Her Dad's Friend (7 page)

“You’re a really great guy, Jeremy,” I say, “and I had fun last night, but I have a boyfriend now.” I glance over at Paul and his stunning blues meet my gaze and he drops an inch of height as his body relaxes. I grin at him, and he shows a ghost of a smile as he goes back into the apartment with the last of the furniture.

I like the sound of that word in my ears when referring to Paul.
Boyfriend
. I like the taste of it on my tongue.

“A boyfriend?” Jeremy says, taken aback. “That was quick.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you before. We’d both been into each other, but neither of us were brave enough to say it until last night after you dropped me off.”

He hangs his head and smiles sadly. “Damn. I knew I should’ve asked if I could come in last night.” He sighs and looks back at me. “Well, good luck, but if things don’t work out with you two, call me.”

“I’ll see you in class,” I say and watch him walk back down the stairs.

Paul’s friend passes me on his way to his truck. “Looks like we’re all set. Enjoy the new furniture.”

“I will, thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

Back inside my apartment, Paul waits for me. I walk up to him, put my hand on his chest and push him toward the bedroom. On the way, I pick up the bag of toys we bought at the adult novelty shop and bring it with us.

His smile lights up the dim room. I turn on the light because I don’t want to miss a thing.

At first I seem like the one in control, pushing him around, but as soon as the cuffs are out of their package, he takes over, cuffing me to my old headboard. He wastes no time getting my shorts and panties off. My shirt and bra are pushed up to my wrists. Leaning back, he takes in my nakedness, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he devours me with his eyes.

“Spread your legs for me,” he demands.

I do as he tells me, opening my legs as far as they’ll go so he has a perfect view. He tilts his head to the side, his lips slack and partly open as he examines the delicate skin between my legs. It turns me on even more, being watched and seeing the front of his jeans grow tight from his erection.

He strips out of his jeans and begins slowly stroking himself as he examines me. Even with his massive hands wrapped around himself, his dick still looks huge. As far as dicks go, he has a nice one. The head is large but not too big so that it hurts. It turns a deep pink when he’s turned on. The velvety smooth shaft is long and thick and perfectly proportionate to the head.

After a minute, he stops his own pleasure to tend to me once more. His hands massage and tickle the sensitive skin of my labia, stopping just short of entering me or touching my clit. He’s so disciplined, never in a hurry, building these feelings into a furious storm before allowing me to get any relief.

“I can smell your soap on your sheets on your old bed,” he says. My eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice.

“You were in my room?”

My room at my parents’ house is exactly the way I left it before moving into my apartment. Even my diary is still stuffed under the mattress. The one that has Paul’s name scrolled through it a thousand times, talking about all my childish day dreams of our wedding, the names of our future children, all the sexy things I wanted to try that I’d seen in porno videos or magazines.

I still have dirty laundry there, my laptop that has naked selflies on it, which, thankfully, is password protected. Everything that could possibly humiliate me with Paul is in that room and he’s had plenty of time to go snooping.

He’s looking curiously at me. “I couldn’t help but think when I sat on your bed that this was the same place you used to touch yourself when you were first discovering new sensations to your body. The same bed you snuck a boy into while your parents were asleep downstairs, and he put his fingers into you for the first time.”

My eyes open wide. “How—” I start to say, but remember my diary.

He continues. “It was where you put a hairbrush handle into your ass to see what it would feel like, and discovered your new love for ass-play.” He takes the bottle of strawberry lube he bought and drizzles it onto his fingers. The tart candy scent fills my nose. Using his dry hand, he spreads my ass cheeks apart with his fingers, and with the lubed hand, begins to massage the rim of my asshole. I take a deep breath and let it slowly out, trying to not tense up.

“There you go, just relax,” he says when my body starts to loosen up. Still, he doesn’t enter me even though I’m ready to accept him.

“The same bed,” he continues, “that you laid in night after night fantasizing about me …”

“So you did read my diary.”

I can’t remember everything I used to write in my diary, but I never held anything back. Everything I ever felt about Paul was between those pages, raw and unabridged.

“It was just lying there. I couldn’t help it,” he says.

“It was under my mattress wrapped up in a sweater.”

A beautiful, playful smile tilts his lips. “You were a dirty little girl, weren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

I’d always been a good student, excellent with computers, and managed to find my way onto porn sites that I shouldn’t have had access to. A girl can learn a thing or two from those webpages. Watching all those women spreading their butt cheeks while men drilled into them, planted a seed into my brain that continued to grow over the years. I knew one day I wanted that done to me, and I used to picture Paul as the one to do it. That, I remember writing in my diary.

Just as I open my mouth to speak, one of his fingers slips past my ring. I suck in a loud breath instead. I’m nervous. I’ve never done this with anyone before. It takes a moment for me to relax enough for it to easily glide in and out without that feeling of uncomfortable pressure.

Once I’ve allowed myself to completely open up to him, his next finger enters.

I’m rocking back and forth on his fingers now. When he bends down, catching my clit between his lips I’m on the edge about to go over, but be backs off before that can happen. He’s really good at controlling my orgasms.

“You like that?” he asks in a sexy, sultry voice.

“Mmm, yes,” is all I can manage because he’s reduced me to nothing but coos and throaty noises.

From the bag, he pulls out the egg vibrator and turns it on. It’s a loud, powerful thing and I shiver with excitement imagining what he plans to do with it. He douses the egg with lube and that, too, goes in my ass. I marvel at the ticklish sensation of something vibrating in there. It feels amazing—like nothing I’ve ever felt before—and helps my muscles to relax even more. When he pulls it out, my entire body has loosened up, so when he puts the head of his cock into my rectum, there’s no resistance or pain.

I let out a long moan. He pours more lube onto his shaft, and takes his time easing it into me until I’m full. By the time he has sank all the way into me, I’m completely adjusted to this new sensation and feeling more turned on than ever before. He goes slow, pulling out, then pushing back in. He adds more lube each time so each entrance is silky smooth and feels delectable.

He lifts my butt off the bed so that he can move deeper into me. As he starts to move faster, humping in and out, I’m going wild. My pussy doesn’t need any attention to send me through the roof. He reaches over into my side table and finds one of my dildos.

I watch him, eyes wide open as he rubs my clit with the tip. He’s going to double penetrate me. Part of me is nervous, afraid it will hurt or won’t fit, but I trust him. If it hurts he’ll stop.

I’m surprised when he pushes it into me and it doesn’t hurt. Not at all. I just feel very full and very sexy and my orgasm smashes into me. He stays inside me a moment, waiting it out as my muscles clamp down on him. He caresses my breasts with his fingers until my shaking has stopped.

He then takes the cuffs off. My strength is non-existent and I buckle into his waiting arms.

“I love how kinky you are,” he whispers in my ear and there’s a smile in his voice.

I smile too, but I have no words. My tongue is broken and my mouth is mush after that gut-ripping orgasm. He rolls over and turns off the light, snuggling up to me.

His breath grows heavy and I think he’s falling asleep, but instead, he says. “I’m in love with you, Rachael.”

I’m frozen in his arms and it takes a minute for me to find my words. “I love you too.”

At this moment, I can’t think of a time I’ve been happier. The fantasy is definitely not better than the reality. The reality is better than the fantasy ever imagined being.

“
I
should probably get back
to your parents’ house before they start to get too curious about where I’m spending all my time. Your mom is a worrier.” Paul says. We’re still in bed.

We’ve had sex two more times and it’s starting to get late. I don’t think I have a fourth one in me. I’m exhausted.

“Welcome to my adolescence,” I say.

I don’t want him to go. I love sleeping in his warm, safe arms. But he’s right. My parents—especially my mom—don’t know how to mind their own business. They also have a bad habit of showing up places without being invited or calling first. Might look bad if they show up in the morning and find his truck in my designated parking spot after he didn’t come back to the house last night.

He kisses me before he leaves. I want to tell him I love him again before he goes, but I’m not entirely comfortable just throwing those words around. They weigh a ton and mean everything to me.

My neighbors are outside again, watching him leave. It’s late and they’re all in their pajamas, holding cups of coffee. It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting up to hear our bedroom theatrics and to catch a glimpse of the man behind all that pleasure. By their swooning smiles and quiet titters, they like what they see.

I shake my head and go back into the apartment. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I fall right to sleep.

In the morning I wake up to the scream of my alarm. I’m feeling a little queasy and think it might be best to stay home from school, but I can’t. More exams. At least this is the last day.

It was supposed to be Paul’s last day in town. He texts me to tell me that. I’m almost in tears and I’m afraid I’ll be too sad to concentrate on my school work until he texts back saying he’s extending his stay. He doesn’t say for how long. I know my dad will be happy about that, and my mom will be happy to have my dad out of her hair.

* * *

P
aul has been
in town for a little over a month now and I’ve had more sex in those weeks than I have in the last two years. Seems longer with everything that’s happened between us. Every day he comes to the school and takes me to lunch. After school he picks me up and we spend time together until he goes back to my parents’ house at night.

It’s fine for now, but we’re in love and eventually it won’t be enough. Luckily he talks about moving back to town and getting a place of his own. I can’t believe he’s willing to drop everything and move back. I’m so happy I can hardly stand it. If only we didn’t have to hide our relationship from my parents, then everything would be perfect. I’m terrified at the thought of telling them, but if I want to be with Paul, they have to know. I need to tell them soon.

Saturday morning, I wake up before the sun is even up. I have to work at the coffee shop. The moment I stand up, the room tilts sideways and the temperature spikes to two-hundred degrees—at least that’s how it feels, anyway. My stomach wrenches as if it’s being turned inside out. I run to the bathroom and make it to the toilet just in time to vomit. I must be coming down with something. I think about calling in sick, but once I have it out of my system, I’m fine and decide to go in.

The bus ride to work seems more tedious than usual. Watching the lights flash by makes me car sick. I’ve never been car sick before, but I’ve been on a charter boat in the middle of the ocean and had gotten sea sick, and it felt a lot like this.

The lights in the bus seem too bright and someone has a serious flatulence problem. Pop a Beano already, Jesus Christ. If it wouldn’t make me late, I’d get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to be late and so I endure it by pulling my shirt up over my nose. I really need to start saving up for a car.

Emily meets me at the coffee shop. She usually spends my shifts sitting at the bar, keeping me company and getting discount caffeine. I feel hungover and yet I haven’t had a drop to drink in weeks. Normally I make small talk with my morning customers on their way out to work, but this morning I don’t seem to have the patience for anyone. I’m even getting annoyed with Emily as she talks non-stop after several cups of coffee, which I normally find kind of funny.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “Your face is pale green.”

If she can tell, it must be bad. “I think I have a stomach bug. I should probably go home. The smell of coffee is making it worse.”

Emily stands so suddenly it makes my head spin. She makes wide, dramatic circular motions with her hands. “Oh my god,” she says.

“What?”

“Oh my god.”

“Just tell me already, you’re stressing me out. What’re you oh-my-godding about?”

She hesitates a moment longer before saying, “You’re pregnant.”

My hand freezes in mid-air as I’m handing a customer his extra-large peach tea. “What? No I’m not. I just had my period …” I quickly do the math in my head and suddenly my stomach drops. “… six weeks ago.”

Shit.

I’d meant to get to the pharmacy several times, but kept forgetting until after Paul and I had sex. I kept thinking I had plenty of time and told myself each day, I’d make it there eventually. But it seems I may have run out of time.

I break out into a cold sweat.

“Miss, my tea,” the man says.

I shake my head, snapping out of my reverie. “Oh, sorry,” I say and hand it to him.

“We’re going to the pharmacy,” Emily says.

* * *

I
leave work early
. I just can’t do the coffee smell any longer. Seeing the green hue of my skin, my boss happily lets me go home. But I don’t go home. Emily and I go straight to the pharmacy and pick up three reliable brands of pregnancy tests.

If I’m actually pregnant, I have no idea how I’m going to tell Paul. I don’t know if I could take him flying off the handle, or blame me for not using birth control. Although he didn’t do anything about it either. What the hell was I thinking? —Oh, right, I wasn’t. Not about that anyway. I was too worried about eye-crossing orgasms. Remember when I said Emily was a better adult than I was? These are the sorts of things I was talking about.

My thoughts are on a Tilt-a-Whirl, spinning through my head until I’m dizzy: If I’m pregnant what would that mean for me and Paul? What about graduating? I’m so close! No matter what, I’m finishing and getting my degree. And my parents. Jesus, they’re going to kill me.

We stop at a gas station because I’m too impatient to wait long enough to get to my apartment to see the test results. We have to step through a puddle of beer-vomit and over a homeless man lying on the pavement singing drunkenly to get into the bathroom, but I don’t even care right now.

Emily fixes her makeup in the murky mirror while I pee on each of the three sticks. I play Candy Crush on my phone while I wait for the results, panicking when a text pops up from Paul asking where I’m at. He must’ve stopped by the coffee shop and I wasn’t there.

“What should I say?” I ask Emily.

I should probably tell him what’s going on, but I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily if there’s no reason for it.

The lights flicker and buzz. There’s a glory hole in the wall and an advertisement written in black Sharpie that says, “For a good time call …” and someone’s number next to it. Great place to find out if I’m pregnant or not.

“Tell him we’re shopping,” Emily says.

“I don’t want to lie to him.”

Emily uses her nail to clean up the edges of the red lipstick she just applied. “Fine. Tell him you’re pissing on a pregnancy strip at a stop-n-rob in the slums.”

I text him back and tell him I’m shopping with Emily.

The timer goes off on my phone. Emily and I look at each other.

Here we go.

“It’ll be okay,” she says without any confidence in her delivery what-so-ever. She’s trying to be comforting but right now that’s the opposite of how I’m feeling.

The tests are on the back of the toilet. I remind myself to stop into the store on the way home for a large bottle of hand sanitizer. I pick one test up and stare down at the little square. It shows two pink lines.

I grab my stomach. “Oh shit.”

Emily takes it from me. “Holy hell.”

I pick up the next one, a different brand than the first. It has a plus sign.

“Double shit,” I say. The nausea is back.

My breath is coming in whooshes and vertigo is setting in. I try to calm myself by lying and telling myself everything is going to be okay, but I know it’s not. Nothing is okay and might not ever be again.

The third test simply says ‘pregnant’, and all I can think is,
I’m so fucked.

* * *

A
t home
I need some time alone to process everything and get right out of my head. I decide to watch TV. Maybe some mindless entertainment will help relieve some stress. Except every time I change the channel, there’s a cartoon on, or a commercial for extra-absorbent diapers. Suddenly, everything is about babies. I turn off the TV and curl up in a blanket even though it’s fairly warm in my apartment. Right now I just need the comfort of it wrapped around me, like my ratty old woobie from when I was a kid whose corners I used to suck on until the blanket was soaked in my slobber.

Time to read a book instead. This was a better idea. A nice horror about a stalker breaking into a woman’s house is just what I need. I spend all day reading and have nearly finished the entire thing when there’s a knock on my door.

I don’t want to see anyone. It’s probably my mom. She’s definitely the last person I want to see. Scratch that. My dad is actually the last person I want to see. What if it’s both of them? Where’s a tropical storm and road closures when you need it?

Filling my lungs with air, I open the door. There’s a deep ache in my chest when I see Paul standing there, looking so brilliantly handsome. But this time it’s not necessarily a good ache. Now might be the one and only time I’ve ever not been thrilled by his presence. He’s still lovely and makes me weak in the knees to see him, but I’m afraid—terrified, is probably a better word for it.

All it takes is one look for him to know something’s wrong with me.

“Is everything all right?” he asks, concern knitting a line into the skin between his eyes. He steps past me, into the apartment. I close the door behind him and lean against it. My legs are barely holding me up.

“Um, yeah, things are fine,” I say, voice wavering. “Can we talk, though?”

“Sure.” He starts to head for the couch but I stop him.

“Can we go somewhere? I’m sick of being in my apartment.”

“Of course.”

We go downstairs and get into his truck. Before, when I smelled the oil and gasoline, I’d liked it. Now every smell makes me feel sick.

The sun is setting. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. We go to the cliffs on a piece of private property my dad’s friend owns. No one ever goes up there and it’s fenced off from the public so I know we’ll be alone without interruption.

He turns off the engine and twists in his seat to look at me. “What’s this about? You’re starting to scare me.”

I’m scared too. Mostly of what his reaction will be. But I can’t keep this from him.