Y’know, I was going to make this post all about my thoughts on what Amanda Fucking Palmer recently wrote on her blog, but that would be absolutely redundant. I mean, like, to the letter, practically.
So, here: Please simply read “why i am not afraid to take your money, by amanda fucking palmer.”
Previously: Alex Kent and Heather Leighton decided to cut their date short… to rush back to her place. Carson Meunetti embarrassed himself auditioning for a band that was out of his league.
Heads up, people: This installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” contains explicit written depictions of sexual acts. It is not suggested for readers under the age of majority, or for anyone offended by sexual content.
“The Party, Part One”
It was well past nine o’clock by the time Carson drove up to Abbeque Valley to pick up Lina, spent a few minutes making small talk with her folks and little brother, drove back down to San Clemente and finally reached Preston VanHart’s house. It took another ten minutes to find a place to park.
“I’m gonna have to circle around.” Car chuckled; it was self-evident. “Obviously.”
“Yeppers.” Lina looked out the window at the parked cars.
Carson grinned. “Looking for someone?”
Lina sat back in her seat and sighed. “Not really.” She brushed imagined hair away from her forehead. “More like looking to see who’s not here.”
“Same diff.” Car found a spot about eight houses down the street, almost at the corner. He was glad for his little Volkswagen Bug as he slipped into the tiny space between the red curb and a pickup truck’s front bumper. “Are you gonna–”
“I don’t know.” Lina sounded impatient. “Okay?”
They’d been friends for a long time. Carson knew when to back off. “Okay.” He made a point of waiting until she looked at him, and then he smiled. “Really… okay.”
She looked grateful. “Thanks.”
They got out of the car and walked up the slight incline. Carson was surprised at the relatively low level of noise leaking out of Preston’s house. He could hear laughter and voices and an undercurrent of music, but nothing to give the neighbors cause to call the cops just yet. It figured – Preston wasn’t really one to blast his music. It was more important it be unique and uber-cool; it didn’t need to be loud to make you want to plug your ears.
The front door opened as they walked up. Crystal Dubois tipped the gray porkpie hat on her head. Pale makeup accentuated her dark eyes and red lips. She affected a carnival barker’s nasal tone. “Carson Meunetti, plus one!” She reached out her hand and Lina shook it.
“Hi. I’m Lina.”
“Crystal.” She gave Car a quick hug and whispered “kinda young…” in his ear. Her breath smelled of clove cigarettes.
He gave her a friendly leer, which she returned as she ushered them both inside with a wave of her arm. “C’mon, awreddy, yer lettin’ all the noise out.”
Inside, the lights were low. From the glowing stereo came a whine of feedback before the speakers screamed, “There’s a time to fuck and a time to pray but the Shah sleeps in Lee Harvey’s grave,” between machine gun splashes of percussion and guitars. Car saw that a few people lingered just inside the door and in the living room, but most seemed to be in the kitchen and out back. If Car knew this crowd, a few people would be in Preston’s room getting smoked out.
Ah, and there was Eric Finn, clustered near the stereo with Ian and Tammy. Finn raised his hand and beckoned; this confused Carson before he realized the wave was intended for Lina.
Behind him, someone hollered, “Hey! Carson fucking Meunetti! Dude!”
Carson automatically turned toward the kitchen and the source of the call. Lina touched his arm. He glanced back to return her quick, uncertain smile before she crossed the room to Eric.
“Dude!”
Much closer now, the owner of that voice punched Carson on the forearm.
“Hey!” Carson turned toward him. “Jim — dude, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
They clasped hands. “Yeah, I came down with Brett Flannery; you know him?”
“No, I don’t think so…” Car checked on Lina one more time. Was it cool to leave her? Was she okay?
Jim grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Let’s get beered up and caught up, dude. How’s it going? Fuck! Fucking Carson Meunetti!”
Car let himself be led. “I know, huh? I haven’t seen you since… uh… junior high.”
“Totally,” Jim nodded. “Fuckin’ gnarly. So, like, how was high school and stuff, right?” He laughed, and just to be perfectly clear, said, “Hardy har, yuk yuk!”
Carson flinched a little when he saw Cary O’Dell, the short, musclebound guitarist from the Donny Zombie Murder Show, turn from the refrigerator with a beer in his hand. Cary saw Carson, turned to the guy next to him, and mumbled something Car couldn’t catch.
Cary’s friend laughed and looked at Car. Cary’s eyes and lips were narrow and smirking. “Hey, bro. Awesome practice the other day.”
As soon as Heather’s car stopped moving, Alex popped onto the driveway and jogged around to open her door for her.
“A gentleman.” Heather smiled.
“I aim to please.”
“Hm…” Heather rented a room in a house in Tustin. “Back here.” She walked him to the door and led him inside.
“It’s not much.” She flipped the wall switch near the door and a lamp next to her bed illuminated the room with soft light. “It’s a place to sleep.”
Alex put his arms around her. “Or not sleep.”
“Or not sleep,” she mumbled.
As they kissed, her tongue small and strong and slick, he ran his hands from the nape of her neck to the rise of her ass and back up her ribs, just grazing the side of her breast. She untucked his shirt, slipped her own hands underneath and grazed his back with her fingernails from his shoulders to the waistline of his pants. Her hands were cool… or his skin burned.
He walked Heather backwards to the foot of the bed and they half-tumbled onto the quilted spread. Alex kissed just below her ear, eliciting a quick inhalation, and tickled under her sweater across her belly. He resisted moving his hands higher. For the moment.
“Hold on,” she breathed. She bit lightly at his throat.
Too much? Alex withdrew his hand. “Oh… sorry…”
Heather laughed. “Not even.” She leaned across the bed… stretching deliciously… and turned off the little bedside lamp. Outside ambient light through the tightly closed window blinds barely kept the room from total darkness. Alex blinked and laid back.
He heard the soft rustle of cloth on cloth and the click of something brushing against the side of the nightstand. Then, Heather was on him. The delicious swaying pressure of her breasts against the front of his shirt told him she had removed her sweater and bra. Her mouth covered his and he put his hands on her smooth, bare back.
He wanted to touch her breasts, but Heather had other plans. She unbuttoned his shirt, kissing the his chest as she exposed it. With tongue and teeth she lingered on his nipples in a way that made him squirm. She kept moving, hands working deftly. He bent his knees and arched his back to oblige her intention to remove his slacks and underwear, and sighed when her hair brushed his groin and inner thighs.
He bucked involuntarily when she put her mouth around him, making her laugh deep in her throat. She bobbed her head and sucked while her tongue moved. Alex groaned, torn between allowing himself to be pinned and wanting to touch and explore her body in return. Heather’s head moved with methodical precision.
Of course it felt good, but the unvaried consistency of her technique soon decided things for him. He took hold of her upper arms and pulled her up, delighting in the hard trace of her nipples along his body. She kissed him and he rolled her over.
It was too dark to make out much more than the vaguest shadows of her body, so he let his mouth and hands explore, much as she had. He found the zipper of her skirt along her hip and slid it down, followed by the skirt itself and her panties. Heather sighed happily.
Alex straddled her hips. Heather’s legs parted slightly and her pubic hair tickled his balls. He ran his hands from her thighs to her ribs to her breasts, which proved to be full and firm in his palms. He bent down and found a nipple, which he circled with his tongue before nipping lightly. She whispered, “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
He lingered there before attending similarly to the opposite breast. Her hands played in his hair. Her hips rotated under him. He slid down, kissing and licking and biting at her warm, smooth skin as he went. He wanted to taste her.
“Just…” Her voice was a clear whisper. “c’mon… put it in me…”
Change of plans, and a direction Alex could hardly object to. He slid back up. “Okay… need to get…” He fumbled in the dark, his dick deliciously brushing the warmth between her legs, and laughed. “Where’d you put my pants..?”
She giggled. “Lemme…” He shifted over her so she could move. She reached out and dragged his pants to his hand.
“Thanks…” He found his wallet and the just-in-case condom he kept there.
“Here… gimme.” She took the condom, pushed him on his back and rolled the rubber down his shaft. As soon as Alex felt the constriction of the condom around the base of his dick, he pulled her to him again. They kissed, hard and sloppy. Her skin was soft and cool and electric everywhere it touched his. He rolled her onto her back again and reached down to guide himself in.
They didn’t break their kiss until he slid inside her and started to move. She stiffened, slightly, momentarily, and relaxed again.
He wished he could see her face. This was an important thing, an important moment in whatever came next, whatever they were becoming. He wished he could see her face.
Alex lifted himself on his palms and slid in and out with smooth strokes, shifting his angle and depth to see what would feel best for her.
Heather’s hands rested lightly on his waist. Her breath came as half-sighs. Her body took his thrusts placidly. Maybe she wasn’t enjoying it? He leaned down and she turned her head to make it easier for him to kiss his way from her clavicle to an earlobe.
“Is this okay..?”
“Yeah…” She stroked his left side. “Yeah…”
Alex kept at it, still doing most of the work. In the dark, barely able to see her, her body softly bouncing with his efforts, it was starting to feel… off. Why did she want the lights off? Was she enjoying this? Her hand still moved along his side with little variation, almost like the unwavering precision she had used when giving him head. Alex twisted slightly; Heather’s hand stopped moving and settled back to a light grip on his ribs.
Alex realized he was distracted. He fought against it; tried to focus on the feel of her wet warmth surrounding him. He was having sex! With Heather! He pushed harder into her and picked up the pace.
She lay beneath him. Her little sighs didn’t change.
After a minute or so, she said, “Are you close..?”
He wasn’t. “Are you?” He panted.
She moved her hands to his ass, squeezing and kneading. “Don’t worry about me.” Her fingers teased between his rectum and his balls. “I want you to come.”
It sure wasn’t going to happen this way. He was frustrated and worried and his arousal was fading. “What about you..?”
“I want you to come,” she said again.
If he didn’t come; if he just wound down until they lay unmoving and sweaty… that would be an even bigger let-down than the sex was turning out to be. What was going on with them? Monday had been so awesome… he felt like he’d been deeper inside her just talking into the night than he did right now, fucking her. Maybe she would come when he did… maybe that got her off…
He got up on his knees and pulled her legs up, putting her ankles against his shoulders. She felt tighter around him, and that felt good. He knew it would be good enough. He picked up the pace, slapping against her.
He felt orgasm hanging inside him like a tight spring that wouldn’t uncoil. Distantly, he heard her sighs escalate to short, breathy grunts. He kept pounding.
It wasn’t happening; wouldn’t let go.
He tried to focus on the sensation, her little noises.
Instead, his mind presented him with an image of Angel Jenner beneath him, her eyes wide, her large breasts shaking.
That did it.
Away he went.
…to be continued!
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I first met Gina Violina at a Tower Records Halloween party in 198something-or-other. Followed her around like a puppy until she paid attention to me. I think that party was at Tardon Feathered’s house — Tardon worked in the art department at Tower. My memory of those days, as some have pointed out, is a bit spotty on the particulars.
In any event, the past and the present collide in a cheerful implosion of art and pure inventiveness. Gina is now part of a puppets-and-music group called Hibbitty Skibbitty, and they recently filmed a show at the performance space at Mr. Toad’s, the audio engineering / mastering / restoration facility owned and operated by… Tardon Feathered!
This video presents a sampling of the whole show, which I understand will be available on DVD.
Here’s some more Hibbitty Skibbitty, san puppets, from earlier this year.
I love that my old friends and peers are still up to their eyeballs in awesome DIY artistic pursuits. I’d love it even more if you’d spread the word about Hibbitty Skibbity! Share these videos if you’re so inclined, or friend them up on the Hibbitty Skibbitty MySpace page, where you’ll find more groovy puppet / music wonderfulness.
And for world-class mastering, engineering and audio restoration, use Mr. Toad! I’m going to hit them up to restore some ancient betamax eight-track audio of mine before it turns to paste…
Yay!
I wanted something light to relax with. A romantic comedy, which I expected to be like a junior-grade “The War of the Roses”
Yeah, uh… the words “romantic comedy” should not be associated with “The Break-Up.” I laughed once, late in the movie, during a mercifully amusing scene between Vaughn and Jon Favreau that was almost certainly inserted to add some balance.
“The Break-Up” was well written, well crafted (for you know screenplays are crafted as much as they are written, don’t you?) and well acted by a great cast obviously enjoying themselves among friends. Vincent D’Onofrio was particularly fun to watch. It was a fine piece of work.
It’s just not a comedy, not by any stretch… but I bet the studio assumed they wouldn’t have sold a single movie ticket if they hadn’t pushed it as such.
The movie was… painful to watch. Painful to the point of tears. I’ve been, or been in relationships with, people like these. Had the same arguments. Dug the same graves. Ouch. Ouch.
About the finest thing I can say about “The Break-Up” was that it caused me to reflect and think and count every single one of the lucky stars left bravely shining in my sky. It made sad and it made me grateful. It made me want to write or call or send up smoke signals to several people to apologize / check in / wish them well.
That’s a fool’s errand, for the most part, so I’m writing this blog post, then I’m gonna play a little music, think about stuff, and try to go to sleep. As I’m sure many of you in relationships can attest, it’s tricky sleeping when your significant other is out of town. We’ll see..!
The last time a movie hit me in this particular way was “Sideways,”
One of the functions of art is to cause us to examine our own lives and experiences. Yeah, I’m calling “The Break-Up” art. I would have paid full price to see it in the theater when it first came out, had I known it was the kind of movie it is.
What movies have you been broadsided by, and why? Don’t be shy; lay it out there. Tell me about it in the comments.
Previously: Alex Kent and Heather Leighton had an amazing night… of conversation. Carson Meunetti convinced his parents not to drag him on vacation with him so he could spend more time with Tess Grundler… who broke up with him a few minutes later.
“What You Wish For”
Carson didn’t want to be there, not today; not particularly. On the other hand, he wanted his books and Stiff Little Fingers record back. So.
He sat on a metal chair in front of a metal table, both painted white and designed to look like they were actually made of wicker, but no one was likely to be fooled. Car could feel the cool metal through the seat of his Chinos, so he stood up and paced around the patio outside the Hotel San Clemente until he caught sight of Tess.
Her frizzy hair was mostly contained by an Angels baseball cap and a scrunchy, but a few long strands burned a warm red in the afternoon sun.
She wore a blue tee-shirt tucked into shorts. Between her thighs and her low sneakers was all smooth tanned skin.
Car liked that skin. He liked that hair.
He ran a hand through his spiky hair and shook his head. “Nope. Nope.”
She walked up to him with stiff, quick strides. A wrinkled orange Pinnacle Records bag swung from her arm. She squinted, and Car knew that was as much due to the sun as to tension.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
It was their first time meeting in person since she broke up with him (over the phone!) Monday night. The last time they’d seen each other — and every other time before that for the better part of a year — they’d met lips first. Today they stood three feet apart. Carson made a conscious effort to keep his arms at his sides no matter how much he wanted to reach for her.
“Thanks for getting my stuff,” he said. “I’m gonna be busy…”
“Oh, me too.” Even as she said it, Tess looked uncomfortable. “I mean… I guess…”
Car’s lips twisted. “Yeah.”
She handed him the bag, which he took hold of well away from her fingers. His desire to avoid contact bordered on oppositional. He just didn’t want to risk touching her. If this was going to be finished, it might as well be finished, sooner rather than later. That’s what she wanted, after all, and Car had always done what Tess wanted. Right up to the way they ended.
He glanced inside the bag and saw his copies of “Nausea” and “Down and Out in Paris and London” as well as the Stiff Little Fingers Record. That was it; every tangible item that connected the two of them. Of course, he also had a bunch of pictures… he’d find a box and dark place and forget them.
“I…” Tess seemed to realize she still had her hand held out in front of her. She let it drop into the other; her fingers twisted. “I didn’t realize George Orwell could be funny.”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“Look, Carson… I was thinking.”
“Hm?”
“I was… maybe I was unfair.”
Confusion washed through him. Was she having second thoughts about cutting their last summer short? Did he want to hear what she was almost certainly about to say? Why the hell wouldn’t he?
“I guess I just thought it was better than dragging it out…”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“But…” She pointed a sheepish smile at the cracked mosaic tiles at their feet. “That was stupid. Why shouldn’t we make the most of… make the most of it?”
There it was.
He should feel relieved. Glad. Excited. Hopeful.
He bit his lip and felt none of those things.
He realized he was staring at nothing.
“I… what do you think?” she said.
This was the chance to have what he’d wanted for them: a slow, gentle fade across the summer as their different life paths moved them from lovers to good friends, with the always-maybe hint that one day, some day, the possibility of becoming lovers again wasn’t out of the question.
“Um… what do I think?”
She looked disappointed. “I thought you’d be… happier.”
“I…” Carson sighed. “Tess, what changed your mind?”
She shrugged and smiled. “I was lonely.”
“You were.” He put the emphasis on “you.” “So…” He stopped himself.
She mistook his restraint for an invitation to continue.
“So I know you didn’t expect what I said the other day. I know we talked about stuff, and I made a… my own decisions.” She took a step toward him; Carson didn’t move an inch forward or back. “So we can have our summer, after all.”
“Because that’s what you want.”
“It’s what you want, too.”
Car shook his head. He did step back, then. “Y’know… I think…” He drew in a breath to fill his chest and exhaled quickly. “I think no, Tess. No.”
She looked worse than shocked. She looked offended.
“What?”
“Sorry. I think I got used to the idea. I think… I think I need to move on. It’s… hard to go back, in my head…”
“But this is what you wanted! It’s what we planned! Why would you go back on that?”
Car gaped at her. “Why would I..? Tess, you already did! Over the phone, for chrissake!”
“So you’re going to pass up our last summer together just out of spite? Seriously?”
“No.” He cut the air between them with the flat of his hand. “You don’t… Tess, just let it go. Don’t make this a fight.”
She was ready for one. Her tiny body was tight, leaning forward. “But I want–”
Car held up his hand. “That’s it. Right there. You decided you wanted to cut us short. You decided you want to have the summer after all. You know what I decided, Tess?” In fact, he hadn’t realized he’d decided anything, at least not until the words spilled out of him mouth.
“I decided it’s always you making the decisions. Even if we talk about it, even if we discuss it, whatever it is… you decide. You. When it should be us. Or, just once in a fucking while, me.”
She looked at him.
Car took it as license to go on. “Monday feels like a long time ago, Tess.” He deflated a little; he didn’t want to be angry with her. He really did want to end well. It was probably too late for that, but still. “Everything was worked out Monday morning. By Monday night, everything was different.”
“But we can make it the same…”
“But I’m living in different, now, Tess! It’s where I am.”
She was softening to the point of tears. “Don’t you still love me?”
He held out his hands; the Pinnacle Records bag swung from his right wrist. “Hell yeah, I love you, Tess.” She put her tiny hands in his. Her skin was cool. “We’re going to be friends forever, you and I. We’ve got a great foundation.”
He wanted that to be true, but the words felt shallow and After School Special-fake in his ears. He felt a door closing between them.
She pulled her hands away. The door closed, not with a slam that shook the frame but with a click.
“I guess that’s what I get,” she said.
“It’s not like that.” It was totally like that, but Car had no ambitions to be a dick.
Tess laughed, sad and bitter. “Okay.”
The clock high above the Hotel San Clemente chimed. Car glanced up automatically.
“I…”
“You have to go.”
“I have to get my folks to the airport.”
“Oh, right. Costa Rica.” She smiled weakly. It hurt Car to see her eyes glistening. “What are going to do with yourself?”
Car had all kinds of ideas. “I’ll manage,” he said. He held out his arms.
They hugged. Tess breathed into his shoulder. “Ah, Carson…”
Car sniffed and blinked tears. “Make sure you call me when you get to New York, okay?”
He felt her nose bob against his tee-shirt. “I will.”
Car kissed her on the top of her head. They let each other go.
When Car got back home, he found his folks building a small collection of suitcases just outside the front door.
“You guys must be in some kind of hurry.”
One of the suitcases threatened to topple. Carson’s father laid a light hand on it. “Change of plans, champ. Your mother’s boss shelled out for a shuttle.”
“Oh… so… you don’t need me to take you to the airport?”
His mother laid a small carry-on on top of a duffel. “Nope! Once Carrie made the offer, I figured it just made sense. This way we don’t have to worry about coordinating with you when we come back… and you don’t have to plan around it.”
“Well… thanks!”
Car followed them into the house. His mother pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “I didn’t think you had it, so I put Uncle Mick’s phone number on the fridge. If you need anything, or if you get tossed in jail or burn the house down or something, you can call him. I have no idea how easy it’ll be to get in touch with us, so he’s your guy.”
Car counted on his fingers. “Jail. House fire. Uncle Mick. Got it.”
His father said, “I’m not going to give you the ‘no wild parties’ speech, kiddo, since I know I don’t have to. Right?”
“I think you just gave me the ‘no wild parties’ speech, dad.”
“Hm. So I did.” He grabbed his wife around the waist, pulled her close, and grinned. “Y’know, Carson, you mother and I have decided that you not coming with us is… just fine.”
Car smiled, rolled his eyes and made gagging motions with his finger in his mouth. His parents laughed.
A horn sounded outside. Carson helped his folks load their bags, hugged his father, hugged and kissed his mother, and stood in the driveway until the shuttle took his parents up the street and out of sight.
A little thrill passed through him. Home alone!
He went inside, got a can of Doctor Pepper soda from the fridge (hi, Uncle Mick), threw himself on the couch in the living room and turned on the television.
Two weeks. Now what?
Well, first up, he had a party to go to.
Alex looked at the plate of ravioli and marinara sauce on the table in front of him and was glad he had chosen a dark shirt for the evening. Note to self: Italian food equals bad choice for first date.
Heather said, “Is it all right?”
He raised his eyes and took her in. Her thick, long strawberry blond hair glowed in the dim light of the restaurant. Her blue eyes shined above her smile.
“No, yeah, it looks fantastic.” He grinned. “I was just thinking I’m glad I didn’t wear white.”
She chuckled. “Oh, so you’re a sloppy eater?”
“I don’t think so…” Alex held up his fork and inspected it. “What is this thing, and how do I use it..?”
“I guess if it’s too complicated, you could just tip the plate up and let the ravioli slide into you mouth..?” She expertly deployed her own utensils to spin spaghetti onto her fork. Alex admired how she didn’t overload the fork; he had never quite mastered the fork-spoon method with spaghetti. Minimizing the chance of a food faux paus was one of the reasons he had ordered the ravioli.
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I can learn to use this thing… all the other cavemen are doing it.”
“That’s the spirit.”
They laughed.
“So.” Heather tore a dainty piece from the bread in the basket. “Tell me about your interview.”
“Oh, right! It seemed to go okay… I guess. He didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t have a whole lot of experience. I had to take this test.”
“Like what?”
“Basically a multiple-choice thing on music and movies.”
“How’d you do?”
“Aced it. Music’s no problem, and we’ve had Showtime on cable for, like, forever, so I’ve seen a lot of stuff.”
“Great! Did he give you any clues about..?”
Alex shook his head. “Nah. Told me he’d call me by Wednesday one way or another. I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
“Pinnacle Records would be so much better than Hagar’s.”
“Totally. But it’s not really the record store — it’s the video department.”
“Still!”
“Absolutely.” Alex rolled his eyes. “I’d rather clean the bathrooms at Pinnacle than sling fast food at Hagar’s, any day.”
“Well, I hope you get it. Sounds cool.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
They both ate a few bites. Alex felt like he should keep the conversation going. Things just weren’t as smooth between them as on the night they met, and that worried him a little.
“So… tell me about your work.”
She laughed. “Please. It’s a bank.”
“Well, still. I’ve never worked in a bank. Do you like it?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I don’t really think about it, you know? It’s just a job; someplace to make money to pay bills.”
Alex remembered something from their marathon conversation. “A step toward the child psychology thing?”
“Well, I guess.” She dabbed her bread in marinara sauce. Alex thought she looked a little uncomfortable. “I guess a real first step would be going back to school.”
“What’s keeping you?”
“You get a job so you can move out and live on your own… then you have to work to keep your apartment… and I don’t want my whole life to just be work and school, you know? I still want to hang out with my friends, go out with a nice guy…” She smiled and Alex grinned back at her.
“Well. I don’t want to keep you from your career path or anything.” He laughed.
“Don’t sweat it, believe me.” She met his eyes. “I’m right where I want to be.”
“Likewise.”
Except that wasn’t quite right. There was something off about this whole night; the whole date, and Alex couldn’t figure out what it was. It was distressing. What if their one night of full-on emotional connection was just a fluke?
He could tell she was feeling it, too… or, rather, not feeling it. She seemed tense. Probably because he was tense. Maybe it was all in his head; maybe he was trying to force the whole thing into something it wasn’t, or at least wasn’t yet.
It was too complicated, and it didn’t need to be. Shouldn’t be.
“Earth to Alex,” Heather said. “Where’d you go?”
He laughed, ashamed to be caught. “Sorry. I… look, are you nervous? Because I am.”
Her eyes widened with relief. “I am totally nervous.” They both laughed. “I mean… Monday night was so awesome…”
“Yeah. Kinda hard to top, I guess.” Thank God she felt it, too. Just knowing helped him relax a little.
“I bet we will,” she said. Her smile was sly.
Alex loosened up and went with it. “I bet we will.” His watch beeped at him. “We better get over to the movie theater. Probably be a line…” He signaled for the check.
They paid and walked to Heather’s red Honda Civic. Heather stopped before walking around to unlock the driver’s side door.
“Alex.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t really want to go to the movie.”
“Oh!” This was it. Dinner proved their connection Monday night was just a fluke.
“No… I mean…”
She stepped close to him, put her hand on the back of his neck, and pulled him down to her. Her lips were soft and warm; her tongue was firm and electric and tasted just slightly like garlic. Alex wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. He felt his dick stiffen. Heather put her free hand on the small of his back and pulled him closer still.
It was a pretty awesome kiss.
When they broke, Alex said, “Hi…”
“Hi.” He could feel her breathing against his chest; he was acutely conscious of the pressure of her breasts beneath her bulky sweater. “Listen…”
“Yeah?” He was having a hard time pulling breath into his lungs.
“All I want to do… all I’ve wanted to do since Monday night…”
She paused; he took the opportunity to satisfy the urge to kiss her again. She moaned, the sound traveling directly from her throat to his. He pulled back and let her finish her sentence.
“All I want to do is take you home.”
…to be continued!
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