Avoiding Amy Jackson (11 page)

“I swear you are the only fifteen-year-old girl who has ever thought about sucking a guy’s balls into her mouth.” He groans noisily and his head lands on the table with a thud.

I nudge his shoulder. “Are you still with me, James?”

“Does it matter? I have a feeling you’re going to continue whether I’m listening or not.” His voice is muffled. His head rests on the table and he waves hand, motioning for me to carry on with my story.

“Well, I went home that night, hopped up on dirty thoughts of sixteen-year-old boys’ cock sizes, and realized for the first time that Brody Lancaster could make my little snatch drip. I remember clenching my thighs tightly together the entire ride home and hurriedly rushing into my parents’ house, making a beeline for my room. I locked myself in and decided tonight was the night I was going to figure out how to work my vagina. I had read plenty of Cosmo magazines and watched enough soft-core porn to have an understanding that my little box had magic inside of her and I just needed to figure out how to rub that pink lamp until I forced that orgasmic genie out. Are you singing Christina Aguilera in your head right now, James? If you’re not, you should be, because that song is really working for me.”

He lifts his head from the table and provides me with an annoyed stare. “How long is this god damn story?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” The idea of making him squirm gives me a thrill of excitement.

“In more ways than one, doll. This is like the raunchy, teenage version of the Vagina Monologues and it’s making me feel like a dirty bastard.”

A small smile makes its presence on my face as I continue with my story and ignore his sarcasm completely. “So I got myself cozy on my Hello Kitty bedspread and spread my legs out like a gynecologist was going to come in any second and perform an emergency Pap smear. I took a mirror and explored my snatch like I was on CSI, inspecting every nook and cranny, every lip and bud. I was going to find this orgasm if it was the very last thing I did. Tap. Tap. Tap. I gently tapped my fingers on my clit, impatiently waiting for something spectacular to happen. Tap. Tap. Tap. I remember thinking, Is this thing on? After a few more taps, I realized that rubbing was where it was at. And boy oh boy, did I rub.”

James lifts his head, groans, and goes back to his favorite face-to-table position.

“I rubbed and rubbed and I rubbed some more. I fingered my little glory hole and dry humped my Justin Timberlake pillow until I eventually had myself trembling so bad from climax that I had a fleeting moment of worrying if my mom was going to have to call 911 because I’d just masturbated myself into a seizure. Another wave of an orgasm rolled through me and that fleeting thought was replaced by blissful thoughts of scheduling my next masturbation session around my school schedule. I decided that four p.m. was the preferred time of double mouse-clicking, seeing that this gave me enough time to get home from school, watch Days of our Lives and Passions, and then get my mental spank bank pictures of Brody Lancaster in order before diving finger-first into my little honey pot.”

A few moments of silence descend upon us. James slowly lifts his head up, looks around the coffee shop, and then locks his eyes with mine. “You… I… What…” He stammers a few more times before running his hand through his hair. “That story seriously just happened in the middle of this coffee shop, didn’t it?”

I nod my head confidently. “Yep.”

“I’m completely speechless right now. And I can’t believe you had a Justin Timberlake pillow.” He raises his eyebrow, apparently questioning fifteen-year-old Amy’s musical taste.

I point my index finger in his direction. “Don’t you dare say anything about J-Tizzle.”

“Stop.” He holds his hand in front of my face. “Do not say any more and never say J-Tizzle again.”

I swat his hand away and focus on my demands. “Fine. Now it’s your turn. Let me hear your first-time masturbation story.”

He smirks and responds immediately. “So this is what friendship with you is like?”

I nod enthusiastically in response.

“I was thirteen and woke up one morning after having a wet dream and found out that jerking off was fucking awesome and that was all she wrote. It became a daily ritual for me.”

“That’s it? That’s your masturbation story?” I question dubiously, my nose crinkling in aggravation.

“Yes, that’s it, my friend. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not as loquacious as you are when it comes to storytelling. And I gotta say, it will take several cold showers for me to get your Vagina Monologue out of my head.” The corners of his mouth crest into a grin and that one perfect dimple is front and center. I have the urge to lick that stupid dimple.

I laugh loudly and work towards steering the conversation to something less sexual and more on par with being friendly. We continue to converse about our lives, giving our friendship and this whole getting-to-know-each-other thing a real shot. I tell James about my parents in Louisville. My dad is a recently retired police officer and my mother used to be a kindergarten teacher. She retired a few years ago, after I graduated from nursing school. I have a strong feeling she’s praying I give her grandkids soon, seeing as she and my father have a lot of free time on their hands these days. I just hope she realizes that, in order for me to provide her with grandkids, I’m going to have to do a complete one-eighty in terms of how I feel regarding the whole idea of marriage and family.

I have James damn near roaring in laughter when I reveal a few stories of what it was like growing up with a father who was a cop. He frequently made a point of cleaning his guns in front of my dates, and he wasn’t afraid to threaten to track them down and beat them to within an inch of their lives if they didn’t have me home by curfew. To say I didn’t date that much in high school would be an accurate statement. I did, however, enjoy sneaking boys into my bedroom for a little extracurricular dry humping session when my dad was working the night shift.

Was I ever caught in the act? Yes, and that night ended with my five-foot-ten dad dragging my six-foot-two flavor of the week out of my house by his shirt. I found out that night that, although dry humping and tonsil hockey are enjoyable, sometimes the risk of getting caught by my Italian father, who has a temper that resembles a raging lunatic, wasn’t always worth the sub-par orgasmic reward. Because, let’s face it, it’s pretty rare in high school to find a boy who actually has the skills to bring out your O-face. And honestly, most of my dry humping sessions ended with me all by my lonesome, lying spread eagle on my comforter and shucking my clam to dirty thoughts of Brody Lancaster. Yes, good ol’ Brody Lancaster was a staple in my spank bank up until I went to college.

And speaking of inept sex skills of teenage boys, any girl who tells you she had an orgasm her first time having sex is a fucking liar. Getting your meat curtains penetrated by a teenage boy whose only sex skills mirror a god damn jackhammer is not a recipe for taking you to the Promised Land. It’s a disaster. A bloody, terrifying, scream-inducing disaster.

We’ve all been there. The sacred moment when you allow someone to plunge inside of you for the first time and one quick thrust has you panicking at the discomfort. You naïvely agreed to play ‘just the tip’ and next thing you know your teenage boyfriend is shoving his tube steak all up in your delicate flower. Shoving and shoving and trying his hardest to break your little virginity barrier, and once that precious spot gives, you feel like someone just stabbed your cooter with a speculum. Ouch.

Screw giving teenagers talks of abstinence! Send my ass around to some high schools and I’ll have fifteen-year-old girls imagining their boyfriends’ little peckers as the main attraction in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They’ll guard their virtues like a young nun at a frat party. And for teenage boys, I think a little encouragement to keep some lube on hand, as well as dissuasion of using machine-gun-like thrusts, could really go a long way for our future generations. I think I just found my calling in life.

As you can see, I wasn’t exactly a role model in terms of being the perfect teenage girl. I was a pain in the ass. I cussed like sailor, smoked Marlboro Reds, and made a career out of showing off my tits. Somehow, my parents managed to survive my high school years without strangling me to death. I can’t imagine what it would be like raising a horny, adolescent, sixteen-year-old version of me. I know my shenanigans did serve as a distraction for them. They were forced to focus on disciplining me instead of constantly missing my little brother Benny. After he died, I was always on the lookout for trouble and I compartmentalized everything, especially my part in his death. My brother’s death gutted me. I have a hard time even thinking about the memories of him that swirl around inside of my brain. It’s something I’m not too keen on talking about with anyone. I’m sure losing Benny served as a strong motivator for my current stance on the idea of getting married and having kids. Marriage and family? Yeah, I’m definitely not a fan.

My Italian father and Irish mother have been married for over thirty years. They are the epitome of high school sweethearts. My entire family is astounded by the fact that I’ve never felt the urge to follow in my parents’ footsteps. My selfishness seems to outweigh any chance of having a sappy, romantic bone in my body.

I skim over the entire subject that is my brother Benny by grilling James with questions about his family. He’s originally from Cincinnati, Ohio, and actually attended med school at the University of Cincinnati. He’s an only child, and his parents are also retired. His mom and dad used to own a small printing company and have since sold their business and focused their energy on enjoying their retirement together. They are currently traveling the country in a small RV and seem to make a career out of constantly telling him that he needs to find a nice girl to settle down with. I’d say it’s obvious that both of our parents have a lot in common in terms of marriage, family, and their overall outlooks on life.

“Were your parents happy you joined the Marines?”

James nods his head as he takes a long sip from his coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s safe to say that my mom and dad were more than thrilled I joined the Marines fresh out of high school. I was kind of a pain in the ass back then. Constantly in trouble.”

“Keep going. I need to hear all about the kind of trouble that teenage James Williams got into.” I raise my eyebrow in his direction and gesture enthusiastically with my hand for him to continue.

He chuckles quietly. “Well…where in the hell do I begin? I got in a lot of fights. I was the kind of punk kid who was always looking for trouble or, at the very least, finding a way to start trouble. My senior year, I was suspended for a week after I beat the shit out of Billy Hawkins. In my defense, the cocksucker deserved it. He messed around with my buddy’s girl, Alicia. And in Billy’s defense, Alicia Opens lived up to her last name. Apparently, her pussy was like a Seven-Eleven, always open for servicing.”

I’m immediately reminded of Veronica Morris. I bet she and Alicia would have been great friends had they known each other back in high school. “Sounds like someone should have kicked Alicia’s ass too.”

James immediately nods his head in response. “Yeah, that girl was a piece of work and one chick I didn’t let anywhere near my dick.”

My eyes squint in amusement as a small smile crosses my face. “So your teenage dick saw a lot of action? Is that what you’re trying to tell me here, James?”

“A gentleman never tells, sweetheart.”

“Oh get the fuck over yourself. You were a man-whore in high school,” I say with a teasing tone to my voice.

James’s only response is to let out a barking laugh and hold both hands up in the air.

I reach across the table and poke my finger into his hard chest. “God, you are an asshole.”

“I’m an asshole?” he questions with amusement. “What do you want to hear? You want me to tell you that I never settled down with one girl in high school and enjoyed the many selections that were available on the easy-teenage-girls menu?”

I point my finger in his direction. “That’s exactly what I want you to tell me.”

“I definitely avoided girls like Alicia, but I kept myself occupied.”

“You kept your dick occupied,” I add.

“Yeah, that too,” James responds with quick smirk.

James was obviously quite the hell-raiser in high school, and it sounds like his parents were ecstatic that he gained some discipline and structure in the military. His track record doesn’t really resemble the typical, perfect-student résumé most physicians have, and honestly, this makes me like him even more. I kind of like that he’s a little rough around the edges, a sort of bad boy, so to speak. What girl doesn’t love a bad boy, right?

Probably one who is only going to have a friendship with said bad boy.

My snarky subconscious really needs to get a life and stay the fuck out of my business.

“What time do I need to get you back?” James asks as he glances at his watch. “It’s almost three.”

“Shit. I should probably head back soon. I promised Lizzy I’d go to the gym with her when she gets back from class.” I ignore the slight twinge of disappointment that spurs from the idea that my time with James is almost over.

I’m sure it’s because I’m really starting to enjoy his friendship…

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, dumbass.

“Okay, well let’s head out.”

We make our way to his SUV, and James is the perfect gentleman. He opens my door, helps me in to the car…you know, all of the normal bullshit. The drive to my apartment is quiet, peaceful. The silence between us isn’t bothersome. I don’t feel the need to keep up a steady flow of conversation. Maybe this whole friendship thing isn’t going to be all that bad?

How about them apples, subconscious?!

James pulls into a spot in front of my building and adjusts in his seat. He turns his body towards mine. “I really had a good time with you today. I hope we can do this again soon…friend.”

“Sure thing, friend.” I chuckle a little. “I had a surprisingly good time today, too.”