refusing to go over 25mph and making grinding noises whenever you shift doesn’t make things better. “Come on,” I say as affectionately as I can through clenched teeth and pound on the gas pedal.
I grip the steering wheel and try not to look at the clock. Then I try to not think about how I’d been so excited after receiving her call that I’d ripped off my shirt in front of Kristen, our TA, slipped on a clean, not-paint-stained shirt before she finished squealing, and then bolted out of the studio without picking my phone up off the floor.
I’m acting like I’m fucking twelve and some girl just asked if I wanted to touch her boob. It’s embarrassing. This wasn’t the first time a chick had called me for a booty call. Not even close. But it is the first time Sasha had even hinted that…
I take a deep breath.
Alright, I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t know exactly if she wanted to fuck, but I think she did. I heard the hesitation in her voice. The unfeigned breathlessness. The little twang of fear. She was about to do something very bad. Something she knew she shouldn’t do. She’d even briefly tried to talk me out of coming after inviting me, which had only made me even more determined to get over to her place as soon as possible.
This was probably a bad idea. I mean, you don’t fuck your brother’s ex-girlfriend. Especially when they’d only been broken up for a few months, and said brother was trying everything he could to get back with her. I knew I should have felt more guilty—alright, I should have at least felt a little guilty—but Brian had had her for almost a decade and I’d wanted her ever since the first day I met her; I’d thrown a water balloon in her face, and she’d answered three hours later by throwing a rotten egg in my face.
I didn’t know how to express my love back then. I’d tried pouring honey in her hair. Tickling her stomach. Burping the alphabet. Looking back, I’ve always been pretty sure that last one pretty much sealed my fate. No chick finds belching sexy. In all honesty, though, I’d probably fuck up even now if I tried to articulate how I felt.
But sex I could do. Sex, I was good at. Especially wild, untamed, crazy rebound sex. Brian was a nice guy, but I’m pretty sure he sucked in bed. I’d fuck her so hard, give her so many fucking orgasms, that she wouldn’t be able to help but fall in love with me.
At least that was the plan.
It was a stupid plan, but I was so fucking whipped it wasn’t even funny. The only thing that made life tolerable was that she didn’t know what affect she had on me.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Finally, I spy the mauve exterior of Sasha’s building and carefully maneuver Tia into the parking lot.
It’s not a bad place. A little shabby, and the bushes planted out front are ugly, but it’s homier than the ‘house’ I share with my five roommates, and I can tell it was probably really cool back when it was built in the late 70’s.
Plus she lives alone. That’s always nice.
I get out of Tia and make my way to the outdoor staircase that leads to the second floor. The steps are made of a gravel composite and scuff the bottoms of my shoes as I walk up. I take a moment to compose myself when I get to the top. I’m breathing like I’d just run a mile. Yeah, that’s a sure-fire way to win a girl over—show up at her door panting like an old dog on a hot day.
I move slowly past rooms 201 and 202. I swear my heart’s beating louder than my footsteps. At least my breathing’s normalized. Sort of. Well, at least I no longer sound like a dog. When I get close enough to read the 203 on the center of her door, I have to grab the metal railing to steady myself.
This is really happening.
I stop and wonder if this is the right place. I know it is. I’d helped her move her shit when she moved in. I’d carried the mattress she found abandoned by the office downstairs to this very room. I’d wondered why she’d asked me to
I grip the steering wheel and try not to look at the clock. Then I try to not think about how I’d been so excited after receiving her call that I’d ripped off my shirt in front of Kristen, our TA, slipped on a clean, not-paint-stained shirt before she finished squealing, and then bolted out of the studio without picking my phone up off the floor.
I’m acting like I’m fucking twelve and some girl just asked if I wanted to touch her boob. It’s embarrassing. This wasn’t the first time a chick had called me for a booty call. Not even close. But it is the first time Sasha had even hinted that…
I take a deep breath.
Alright, I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t know exactly if she wanted to fuck, but I think she did. I heard the hesitation in her voice. The unfeigned breathlessness. The little twang of fear. She was about to do something very bad. Something she knew she shouldn’t do. She’d even briefly tried to talk me out of coming after inviting me, which had only made me even more determined to get over to her place as soon as possible.
This was probably a bad idea. I mean, you don’t fuck your brother’s ex-girlfriend. Especially when they’d only been broken up for a few months, and said brother was trying everything he could to get back with her. I knew I should have felt more guilty—alright, I should have at least felt a little guilty—but Brian had had her for almost a decade and I’d wanted her ever since the first day I met her; I’d thrown a water balloon in her face, and she’d answered three hours later by throwing a rotten egg in my face.
I didn’t know how to express my love back then. I’d tried pouring honey in her hair. Tickling her stomach. Burping the alphabet. Looking back, I’ve always been pretty sure that last one pretty much sealed my fate. No chick finds belching sexy. In all honesty, though, I’d probably fuck up even now if I tried to articulate how I felt.
But sex I could do. Sex, I was good at. Especially wild, untamed, crazy rebound sex. Brian was a nice guy, but I’m pretty sure he sucked in bed. I’d fuck her so hard, give her so many fucking orgasms, that she wouldn’t be able to help but fall in love with me.
At least that was the plan.
It was a stupid plan, but I was so fucking whipped it wasn’t even funny. The only thing that made life tolerable was that she didn’t know what affect she had on me.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Finally, I spy the mauve exterior of Sasha’s building and carefully maneuver Tia into the parking lot.
It’s not a bad place. A little shabby, and the bushes planted out front are ugly, but it’s homier than the ‘house’ I share with my five roommates, and I can tell it was probably really cool back when it was built in the late 70’s.
Plus she lives alone. That’s always nice.
I get out of Tia and make my way to the outdoor staircase that leads to the second floor. The steps are made of a gravel composite and scuff the bottoms of my shoes as I walk up. I take a moment to compose myself when I get to the top. I’m breathing like I’d just run a mile. Yeah, that’s a sure-fire way to win a girl over—show up at her door panting like an old dog on a hot day.
I move slowly past rooms 201 and 202. I swear my heart’s beating louder than my footsteps. At least my breathing’s normalized. Sort of. Well, at least I no longer sound like a dog. When I get close enough to read the 203 on the center of her door, I have to grab the metal railing to steady myself.
This is really happening.
I stop and wonder if this is the right place. I know it is. I’d helped her move her shit when she moved in. I’d carried the mattress she found abandoned by the office downstairs to this very room. I’d wondered why she’d asked me to
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