F*cking Awkward (15 page)

B
edroom door locked
. Lights out. Fan on.

I lie completely still, letting the air swirl over me. When I close my eyes, I imagine feathers swirling on my sensitive skin, but I’m not getting the tickles and I definitely don’t feel like laughing. When I work up the nerve to put my hand over my underwear, my hips push up in such a slight movement I might not have noticed if I weren’t hyper-focused on my body.

It’s go-time, even though I have no idea what I’m doing. I use the deep-breathing techniques I learned in the yoga class my softball coaches made the team take over the winter. I try to stretch my mind to the possibilities of peace-and-tranquility-and-blahblahblah, which sounded like bullshit in class, but might actually be useful to relax me now.

Then my fingers twitch.
Oh
.

I’m pretty sure they moved by some brain impulse, because I didn’t do it on purpose.

There they go again.
Ohhh
.

I press down with the heel of my hand. Intentionally this time. The combined actions of my fingers and my palm draw a low moan from the back of my throat.

Whoa
.
Hey
.
Hi there
.

What else can I discover about this body I’ve had for fifteen years and “Clearly,” to quote Erika, “haven’t done” to it?

I drag my fingers all over, teasing and caressing myself
down there
. This isn’t so bad. In fact, it feels pretty darn good. I’m not sure if I’m doing “this” the right way or not, but honestly? I don’t care. I am not going to get caught up in my head like I usually do. So back into yogi-mode I go, to let my mind wander.

What would it feel like if Caden or James were touching me this way
?

Oh boy. That was quick.
Thanks, mind
.

My fingers move more confidently over my underwear and my brain whispers, “
It might feel like this if one of the guys touched you here. You’d like it. You’d want more
.”

My brain is a freak.

I go with it and let my inner-freak take over.

My hips move in a rhythm to match my hand and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder what would it be like if I took off my underwear and
really
touched myself.
Huh
.

I slide my old-lady cotton panties down until they reach my feet and kick them across the room.

Here we go
.

I
hesitate
. It’s so stupid since I
want
to do this, but other than washing in the shower, I’ve never intentionally touched myself there.
Here
.

I use Mr. Lucky Left Hand this time.

Using a light touch, I feel the hair between my legs—it’s longer and coarser than I expected. I poke my finger around and find… What is it called? The labia majora. That’s what our health teacher called the area, but the term seems so awkward and academic. What I’m doing right now is not textbook material. This is something completely different.

I push through my lips and find the entire area wet.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

When I spread myself apart with both hands, the fan’s air “touches” my delicate skin in the same pattern as the fan blade spins. My whole bottom region clenches in preparation, then I reach a finger out to explore.

Tap. Tap.
Swish
. Tap. Tap.
Slide
. What I feel is unexpected. Slick. Sensitive. Strange.

I reach farther down to find my opening.

Ready, Jill?
One. Two. Three. Before I lose my nerve, I jam a finger inside up to my second knuckle.
Ouch
.

Do penises really fit in there? No way one of those will ever fit inside me. At least, not the gigantic ones I saw in the porn videos. Nope. Maybe a skinny one, though. Like pencil-sized.
Or not
.

I withdraw my finger until just the tip is inside and move it in a slow wiggle. Then I start a small rhythmic pulse—in and out. Yeah, this works. I’m more careful when I push my whole finger back in and swirl it around. Hey, it’s spongy in there.
Who knew
?

With my right hand still exploring all the inner parts, I skim the left one up my stomach making swirly designs with my fingertips. Goosebumps pucker my skin and I take one sweep higher than the others to graze my nipple. It’s hard and I poke at it with a finger over my tank top.

Poke poke poke.

Eh.

Swipe. Swipe. Rub.

Ahh
.

The teasing massage on my nipple combined with the sensation caused by my other probing hand brings my body to an entirely new level of excitement. And…there’s one more part of my body I need to find—my clit-o-ris.
Hahaha
. My clitoris. It’s where Erika said the magic happens, right?

My finger is sticky when I pull it out of my body, but I don’t waste time worrying about what that goo is on my hand. I’m on a mission to see what will happen when I touch my magic clitoris. I mean, what
will
happen?

My fingers explore and then brush against some new part of my anatomy that feels
better
than anything else in the area.

There she is
.

I’m beyond delicate examination. I dive in with the press and rub technique. It seems to work, so I do it again. And again. Until I’m lost in this unusually good feeling. When I let my mind
go
, again, it
goes
right to Caden and James, again.

My freak brain pictures the guys touching my breasts, kissing my neck, rubbing their-gasp!-penises against me, using a finger to touch me right where I’m,
oh
,
ohh
, rocking hard against my own hand as I rub out a unique rhythm in tune with my needs.

The throbbing heat between my legs reaches to a new level. My legs shake like when I’m doing sixty-second wall squats and my butt squeezes like I’m—

Wait. Wait. Wait! This is crazy. What the hell am I doing
?

I freeze. Then, very slowly, I pull my hands away from their respective places on my body.

The ache is so much worse than before I started touching myself, but I can’t do this…thing. It’s too weird. And after the night I’ve had, I’m not sure I can handle anything else on the weird-scale.

I
find
my phone on the nightstand and call James. Maybe he can distract me from this insanity. Besides, we talk most nights before going to bed, so calling him will keep things “normal” between us.

The line picks up before the first ring finishes, but James doesn’t say hello. Instead, he just breathes in a rushed, choppy way like he’s working out hard. Or maybe like a creeper.

“Hey, James.”

“Jillsssss,” he exhales.
Definitely creeper-like
.

“Yep. It’s me, dork-boy.”

He doesn’t respond directly, but he starts to pant. At least I think he’s panting. Maybe he really is exercising, but why so late at night?

“James? Hey. What are you—?”

“Ohhh, fuck. Fuck. Jillsssss…”

I’ve never heard him say my name that way before—low and guttural—like he’s in pain. Maybe he needs help.

“James. JAMES! Are you okay?” I say in a loud whisper so I don’t wake my parents up.

“Jills? Huh? Where are you?”

There’s a clunking noise like the phone dropped. Then James’ voice comes in clear through the speaker. “Jills, are you really there? Ohmygod.”

“Of course it’s me. What—“

Click
.

B
efore Caden can say hello
, I start talking.

“Go find James. The jerk just hung up on me.”

“Seriously? Do you know what time it is, Jill?”

I whine, “Do it, please,” until Caden reluctantly agrees to check on his brother.

“Let me find a shirt first.”

Shirtless, Caden.
Oh my
.

I hear him moving around the room, muttering under his breath until he returns to the phone with an, “All right. Let’s go.”

A few moments later, I hear knocking and the squeak of James’ door hinge—the same squeak that’s never been fixed the whole time we’ve been friends.

Caden must cover the phone with his hand because there’s a long minute of muffled voices. Then he says, “Stay dry in your dreams, bro,” in sing-song voice before laughing at his own private joke.

“Jill, hold on. Just heading back to my room.”

Fine
.
Ugh
. He knows I hate to wait.

“Okay. You there?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s going on? Why did James hang up on me? Is he mad because I yelled at him in the pool?” I’m in full ramble mode. “Is it because of what happened tonight? Because I kissed you— Him— We—?”

“Whoa, Jill, slow down. Breathe.”

He said the same thing to me in the treehouse
.

Caden exhales so deep I nearly feel it brush my ear through the phone. Then he mutters, “Fuck. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Caden?”
What is going on
?

“Fuck,” he repeats.

“Do what? Just tell me. Wait, is James okay?”

Caden’s laugh surprises me given his distress a few seconds ago. “Yeah, he’s fine. And he’s sorry he hung up on you. He just got, well, startled when you called.”

“What do you mean he got startled?”

Caden doesn’t respond and it pisses me off. “What’s the deal, Caden?”

“I’ll tell you,” he says, “but only if you promise not to interrupt. Think you can handle that, Jill?”

Caden knows I don’t listen very well, but if he’s asking me to do it, there’s a reason. “Yes. C’mon.”

“So you remember in the treehouse when we kissed and you felt me, I mean, you felt my penis get—? Then you saw James pop a tent in his shorts. Shit. This is hard, Jill.”

I almost spit out,
that’s what he said
, but somehow hold my snarky comment through some miracle act of willpower.

“Jill, it was awesome that you let me be your first kiss. What I didn’t expect was how hot it would be. You were— You
are
so innocent and, God, it’s a total turn-on.”

Turn on.
That phrase again
.

“I’m not sure you have any idea, Jill.”

Oh, I
do
know how hot our kiss was because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about his lips and his hands on me. And, oh yeah, that
throb
between my legs for the past hour? Yeah, I know turn-on, too.

“It was even hot when you kissed James.
I
had no idea it would be, but… Hey, are you still there?”

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Yes, Caden. You asked me not to interrupt, remember?”

“Yeah, right. Okay. So you know firsthand when guys experience something or
someone
so hot, our dicks get, well,
hard
. Kissing
you
got me hard and…apparently
our
kiss got to James, too.” His chuckle is nothing short of
sexy
. “You were so cute when you realized what was happening.” Then he adds with a sigh, “I’m sorry the whole thing freaked you out.”

I
was
surprised to feel Caden’s erection after I’d kissed him for only a few minutes, but it was James’ “tented shorts” from watching us that freaked me out. I mean, penises. Everywhere.