Busted by Antony John

coyly. “Are you?”
    â€œAm I what?”
    â€œA good kisser.” She takes my hand and performs another pirouette.
    I turn a deep shade of red. “Not really,” I mumble.
    We disconnect and she plants her hands on her hips. “Ooooh, that’s not a good way to put it. Way too honest. Try again.”
    â€œUm … I … yes, I’m amazing.”
    â€œNaaaah. Wrong answer. Kind of gross. Try again.”
    â€œGeez, why can’t I just show you?”
    â€œAh,” she whispers. “Definitely getting warmer.”
    And then she’s holding my hand again and our lips are touching, and I’m content to stay that way as long as she likes. I don’t change a thing about our gentle, moist little kisses until she opens her mouth, and then I do exactly what Paige told me to do. And it works. Jessica doesn’t pull away for at least ten seconds.
    â€œWhoa, you actually are a good kisser.”
    â€œThanks,” I say, preparing to continue.
    She leans back. “But your hard-on is rubbing against me and it’s weirding me out.”
    Why do guys have such an overtly expressive sexual organ?
    â€œBut don’t worry,” she reassures me. “It’s just a little time-out, that’s all.” She smiles and takes my hand. “Do you think I’m cute?”
    I look away. “Yes.”
    â€œI’m glad.” She chuckles. “Ever since that Women’s Studies class started, some of the girls are saying you shouldn’t judge someone on their looks. But I don’t see what’s so wrong with being pretty.”
    â€œNo. I like pretty girls.”
    She raises an eyebrow. “Ooooh, that sounded kind of weird.”
    â€œSorry. I didn’t mean—”
    â€œForget about it … I’m just saying it’s not fair for someone to hate me just because I’ve got the same physical measurements as Jessica Alba, you know?”
    â€œHold on. Did you just say Jessica Alba?”
    â€œYeah. Isn’t that incredible?”
    Yup, that is incredible.
    â€œThat’s exactly what Paige said.”
    â€œShe did?” Jessica furrows her eyebrows and stares into space. “Oh, it must have been Paris Hilton then, not Jessica Alba.” She gazes at me again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you about your ex-girlfriend.”
    Ex-girlfriend? My date with Paige only lasted seventeen minutes. Is it really possible to become an item in less time than it takes to shower?
    â€œWell, anyway,” continues Jessica proudly, “I just got measured for my prom dress. And it turns out I’m a 34B-25-35. Do you need me to repeat that?”
    â€œHuh? No, I got it.” I give her breasts a closer inspection. “Are you really a 34B?”
    â€œYeah, of course. Why would I lie about something like that?” She pauses as I shrug. “Here, you can touch if you want.”
    I wait a moment, expecting her to say “April Fools’” even though it’s almost May, but she doesn’t say a word, and she’s moving toward me. I swallow hard, then place my hands on her breasts and give a little push.
    â€œOw!” She steps back. “Geez, Kevin. It’s best if you touch a girl’s breasts gently. They’re kind of sensitive, in case you hadn’t heard.”
    Actually, I hadn’t heard, but I don’t tell her that.
    â€œTry it like this,” she says, gently rubbing her fingertips across the part where I imagine the nipples must be.
    I take over and she smiles, and I know that I’m doing well. I’m even considerately keeping my distance so that my boner doesn’t disturb her again. I begin to entertain visions of a long and enjoyable evening.
    â€œGood, you’ve got it.” She removes my hands. “So, you believe me now?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œThey’re 34B, right? It’s obvious.”
    â€œOh yeah. 34B.