sow and asses to plow, and
you can say that it’s because Edoardo isn’t boring yet, but it’s really just
you proving to that old bastard again and again that he still can’t tell you
who to be or what to do. But for how long? What was the point of all of this,
Jesse? You were supposed to be studying with all these big name international
jewelers and learning your trade.”
“I am!” he’d insisted. He’d made a new piece as an
apprentice in every city they’d been in, and he had the photographs of Marcy
wearing the rings and bracelets to prove it.
“Whatever you say, Jesse. We both know you’ve been partying
and acting like you’ll never have to pay the piper. That neither of us will.”
She’d been a blaze of pale fury. “And I never thought I’d say it, but I’m sick
of all this uncertainty. Aren’t you? Even a little?”
Jesse had been sick of it, but
his pride kept him from admitting it. Marcy, however, was set on going home,
and so they’d had one last night of clubbing, drinking, and dancing with
Edoardo. After returning to their hotel, the three of them sprawled out on the
bed together, and in a burst of absurd laughter, they’d started a very drunk
game of truth or dare.
Ten turns in, Marcy chose dare, and Edoardo pointed between
them. “I dare you to fuck.”
It’d been ridiculous, laughable. Jesse was gay. They all
knew that. Edoardo had felt the evidence of it just that morning in a rough and
tumble screw.
“Yeah, right,” Jesse said.
Marcy had scoffed and rolled her eyes, taking another big
swig from the open bottle of gin they passed between them. “Forget it. I choose
‘truth.’”
“No. You said dare.”
Marcy looked at Jesse and, as she licked her lips, the
drunken laughter fell from her expression, and something new and defiant crept
up in its place. Jesse had seen that look in the past—just before Marcy would
suggest they do something insane, like dive off the cliffs or try a hit of
acid. Jesse’s stomach had flipped in anxiety, and shockingly his cock thickened
and swelled.
“I see how you look,” Edoardo said to Jesse. “You see her breast.
You see her hip.”
Jesse couldn’t deny it. He’d noticed Marcy’s body. He’d
found her sexy, there had even been times he’d thought about touching her.
But…he’d always wanted men. He loved the feel of strong muscle, and hairy legs.
Women had never rocked him sexually the way the thought of a man did.
“We’re best friends,” Jesse had said, rolling his eyes. “This
is ridiculous.”
“Best friends? You are a couple .
And, besides, best friends survive all, yes?”
Jesse remembered how that had made so much drunken sense at
the time. Now, he touched Marcy’s faded hair and her cheek, and lowered his
head down to rest against the side of her hospital bed, breathing in the
all-too familiar antiseptic smell of her sheets, as the memory of that night
washed over him.
Edoardo’s urging had been childish but effective. “Come on.
I thought you were daring girl. Jump off a high cliff. Fuck him.” Edoardo’s
face had been a weird mix of smug knowing and lustful amusement. “Are you
afraid? Are you—how do you say—chicken?”
Marcy’s drunken eyes had hardened, and she’d stood. “Fine.”
She’d reached to untie the string around her neck that held
up her loose dress. As it dropped to the floor, Jesse’s cock had thrummed. She
kicked her underwear off and stood up straight, thrusting her breasts a little
forward, a defiant jut to her chin. Her pubic hair was darker than her hair,
and her breasts were small but perky, with nipples the same color as the petals
on Jesse’s mother’s favorite pink rose bush.
Jesse had stood and started on his belt, surprised that he
was hard. It’s the liquor and the rush of bad decisions, he
remembered thinking. But when he’d lain down on the bed next to Marcy, and they’d
leaned toward each other for the first time, his lips coming toward hers in
open-mouthed
you can say that it’s because Edoardo isn’t boring yet, but it’s really just
you proving to that old bastard again and again that he still can’t tell you
who to be or what to do. But for how long? What was the point of all of this,
Jesse? You were supposed to be studying with all these big name international
jewelers and learning your trade.”
“I am!” he’d insisted. He’d made a new piece as an
apprentice in every city they’d been in, and he had the photographs of Marcy
wearing the rings and bracelets to prove it.
“Whatever you say, Jesse. We both know you’ve been partying
and acting like you’ll never have to pay the piper. That neither of us will.”
She’d been a blaze of pale fury. “And I never thought I’d say it, but I’m sick
of all this uncertainty. Aren’t you? Even a little?”
Jesse had been sick of it, but
his pride kept him from admitting it. Marcy, however, was set on going home,
and so they’d had one last night of clubbing, drinking, and dancing with
Edoardo. After returning to their hotel, the three of them sprawled out on the
bed together, and in a burst of absurd laughter, they’d started a very drunk
game of truth or dare.
Ten turns in, Marcy chose dare, and Edoardo pointed between
them. “I dare you to fuck.”
It’d been ridiculous, laughable. Jesse was gay. They all
knew that. Edoardo had felt the evidence of it just that morning in a rough and
tumble screw.
“Yeah, right,” Jesse said.
Marcy had scoffed and rolled her eyes, taking another big
swig from the open bottle of gin they passed between them. “Forget it. I choose
‘truth.’”
“No. You said dare.”
Marcy looked at Jesse and, as she licked her lips, the
drunken laughter fell from her expression, and something new and defiant crept
up in its place. Jesse had seen that look in the past—just before Marcy would
suggest they do something insane, like dive off the cliffs or try a hit of
acid. Jesse’s stomach had flipped in anxiety, and shockingly his cock thickened
and swelled.
“I see how you look,” Edoardo said to Jesse. “You see her breast.
You see her hip.”
Jesse couldn’t deny it. He’d noticed Marcy’s body. He’d
found her sexy, there had even been times he’d thought about touching her.
But…he’d always wanted men. He loved the feel of strong muscle, and hairy legs.
Women had never rocked him sexually the way the thought of a man did.
“We’re best friends,” Jesse had said, rolling his eyes. “This
is ridiculous.”
“Best friends? You are a couple .
And, besides, best friends survive all, yes?”
Jesse remembered how that had made so much drunken sense at
the time. Now, he touched Marcy’s faded hair and her cheek, and lowered his
head down to rest against the side of her hospital bed, breathing in the
all-too familiar antiseptic smell of her sheets, as the memory of that night
washed over him.
Edoardo’s urging had been childish but effective. “Come on.
I thought you were daring girl. Jump off a high cliff. Fuck him.” Edoardo’s
face had been a weird mix of smug knowing and lustful amusement. “Are you
afraid? Are you—how do you say—chicken?”
Marcy’s drunken eyes had hardened, and she’d stood. “Fine.”
She’d reached to untie the string around her neck that held
up her loose dress. As it dropped to the floor, Jesse’s cock had thrummed. She
kicked her underwear off and stood up straight, thrusting her breasts a little
forward, a defiant jut to her chin. Her pubic hair was darker than her hair,
and her breasts were small but perky, with nipples the same color as the petals
on Jesse’s mother’s favorite pink rose bush.
Jesse had stood and started on his belt, surprised that he
was hard. It’s the liquor and the rush of bad decisions, he
remembered thinking. But when he’d lain down on the bed next to Marcy, and they’d
leaned toward each other for the first time, his lips coming toward hers in
open-mouthed
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