IN THE WEEK SINCE OUR last pledge challenge—Big Brother Night—I’ve learned more about the fraternity and its hundred-year history than I have anything else in any of my courses. Being an undecided major means I get to knock out all the prerequisites I’ve yet to take, so my list of courses is like a recipe for fucking boredom and failure. And with having to learn so much fraternity bullshit and continuing our cleaning duties around the house, I’ve looked forward to the opportunity to get out of the house, see my dudes, and maybe drink a little … or a lot. Who the fuck knows when it comes to DIK pledging.
We’ve been waiting in the basement now—the four of us—for nearly fifty minutes, but at least we weren’t made to link up tonight. Instead, we were greeted down here by Brady, in all his hungover glory, who told us to relax until the night began.
Carter has looked nervous all evening, and though I’ve asked him and been denied a few times already, I feel the urge to ask him again what tonight will entail. I know he knows. I can see it in his eyes. And it doesn’t look good.
He seems to notice what’s about to come as he puts a finger up and digs into his pocket, his eyes on the other two as they fuck around near the bar. They’ve already checked the refrigerator three times for beer that isn’t there, and now they’re convinced there’s some liquor hiding somewhere in the utility closet.
“Hey,” Carter whispers, motioning to his jeans. He pulls a pint of Captain Morgan from his back pocket. “You’re going to want to have some. Trust me. Just don’t let the guys see. I don’t have enough for all of us.”
“Tell me what’s goin’ on, man,” I plead, reaching for the bottle. He covertly places it in my hand, looking toward the others again as they continue digging through the closet. “And where the hell did you get this?”
“I just got a fake ID in the mail,” he responds, his eyes still watching the closet closely.
I take a long swig, and then another for good measure before passing it back over, then he takes one himself. He grimaces as he swallows it down.
“I’ll tell you when we get closer to it,” he says, his face scrunching in displeasure. “You just want to drink as much as you can right now.”
“You’re freakin’ me the fuck out, Carter. And you could’ve goddamn told me sooner so I could’ve brought my own liquor.”
“I know. They just really fucked with me hard about talking. They freaked me out.’
“Well, fuck … pass that shit back over before the guys get done fuckin’ around.”
He hands it over and I take another big gulp before giving it back. He pockets it just as Mac exits the closet and groans, Jeremy just behind him.
“Fuck!” Jeremy says, shrugging with his palms in the air. “Ain’t no liquor anywhere. This is some bullshit.”
“Carter,” Jeremy says as he approaches us. “What the shit is goin’ down, man? You been weird all fuckin’ day.”
“No idea,” Carter responds, shrugging. “We just have to wait and see.”
“Is there gonna be any more of that gay shit?” Mac asks, pretending to swat a paddle.
Carter laughs. “I’d expect a lot more of that,” he responds. “That’s just fraternity life for you.”
“Blame the forefathers, right?” I ask.
Carter nods. “Exactly.”
“I can totally see them in their pantaloons, spanking each other with paddles,” I quip.
“I don’t think they wore pantaloons in the Twenties.” Carter laughs.
“Fuck off. Don’t ruin my joke.”
As the words leave my lips, the basement door opens, drawing our attention. Only Brady and Trevor come down, which surprises me, as I heard way more people clodhopping about upstairs. They’re both dressed in suits, hair purposefully disheveled.
They scale the steps as Trevor says, “Alright, pledges. It’s time to start your third challenge. You’ll follow us out to the van, and we’ll be taking you to a separate location.”
“What about the alcohol?” Brady says, nodding his head toward us.
“Oh yeah,” Trevor responds, snapping his fingers. “You all remembered not to drink anything today, right? Tonight’s challenge is going to require you to be one-hundred percent sober.”
We all nod our heads.
“Alright, let’s go then.”
We follow Trevor and Brady to the van and hop inside, eventually making our way down frat row toward Main Street. Just as we reach it, Damian makes a sharp right turn, pulling into a lot at the back of some building, amongst the trash dumpsters and discarded pallets.
“What the fuck,” I mutter, taking in our surroundings, as Trevor turns back toward us.
“You guys follow Brady inside through the back. I’m going around front. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he says, finishing in a singsong tone, a grin on his face as he opens the door and hops out. Brady follows suit, motioning for us to follow him as he heads toward the back door.
He holds the door open for us as we empty the van and approach. As we pass through the doorway, he says, “Let this be the only time I hold the door open for you bitches.”
It’s the ‘bitches’ that earns him a sneer as I follow Jeremy inside, Carter just a few steps behind me. Brady’s expression doesn’t change, though; the cocky smirk remains.
What I would give to beat that look off him.
“Line up in front of that door,” Brady says, pointing toward the only door in front of us, as white as the painted cinderblock wall surrounding it. There are a few mop buckets, some mops and brooms, and a pile of boxes scattered around the narrow back room. Music plays from just past the door, so loud I can make out the song, though I can’t decipher the lyrics.
SexyBack.
Brady follows us in, shutting the door behind him and cockily striding over to us as we wait beside the wall.
“You motherfuckers got no idea what’s coming tonight,” Brady says, laughing. “I hope you’re ready for this shit.”
The music softens a little and an announcer’s voice replaces it, too muffled to understand. Brady laughs again, shaking his head. Mac gulps and I can feel the tension Carter carries in the air. I’m about to beat the secret out of him to be quite frank.
“No. Fucking. Clue,” Brady continues, still pacing with his hands on his hips. As he studies us in a superior manner with that contemptuous grin on his face, the door abruptly opens.
Trevor comes through, an excited look in his eyes and a wide smile on his face. With him, comes flashing dance lights and music that deafens. There’s a wraparound bar, and it looks to be filled, but beyond that, I can’t see much. Trevor places his hand on Jeremy’s shoulders and motions his head toward the club.
“You’re up first, pretty boy,” Trevor says, guiding Jeremy toward the entrance with an arm around his neck.
Jeremy grins. “Let’s get ’er done,” he responds as they disappear into the club, the door shutting behind them, snuffing out the strobe lights. There’s high-pitched whooping on the other side, and I look to Carter with a quirked eyebrow.
“That sounds like a lot of girls,” I mutter, and Carter just nods, a nervousness in his features.
“What’d you say, Bishop?” Brady barks.
“I said ‘It sounds like a lot of chicks in there.’”
“Yeah, it does,” Mac agrees, wide-eyed and nervously scratching at his patchy beard.
“Oh, there definitely is,” Brady says, a giddiness to his tone I don’t like much.
After a nerve-racking minute of silence between us, my focus darts toward the door as it opens again, and Trevor comes through, the smile even wider now. “It’s your turn, Red. Bishop, you’re on deck,” he says, gesturing for Mac to come through the door.
Mac hesitates, taking a gulp as he looks back toward us with fear in his eyes. “What’s happening?” he asks Carter, who, in turn, just cracks up.
“Come on, Mac,” Trevor says, nudging Mac through the door.
The song cuts out and an announcer says something over the PA system before a new song begins—Pony—and the door closes behind them.
I gasp, eyes going wide, mouth slack. “We’re fuckin’ stripping, aren’t we? Aren’t we?” I shout, the red flags finally visible.
Carter nods, letting out a bit of nervous laughter.
“Butt fucking naked,” Brady laughs.
“Fuck me,” I groan, putting a hand out toward Carter. “Give me the fuckin’ bottle.” I snap at his back pocket, but he doesn’t go for it right away, instead looking toward Brady as if he’s been caught stealing.
“What bottle?” Brady asks.
“My bottle. I made Carter hold it for me.” My eyes remain on Carter and I gesture for him to hurry up and hand it over. “And now I want it back.”
He hesitates, looking at Brady and then at me again before he finally digs it out and hands it over.
“You weren’t supposed to drink alcohol today,” Brady snaps, a lip curled back.
“No offense, Brady, but I’m a grown-ass man, and if I gotta strip for a bar full of people, I’m doin’ it with some liquor in my fuckin’ system. And a lot of it.” I unscrew the top and toss the bottle back, killing about a quarter of it. I take an extra-long drink since I know Brady is watching me intently. Once I finish, I hand it over to Carter. “Want some?”
Carter looks at Brady and then me, and then the bottle, before he reluctantly takes it from me and throws it back.
“You fucks!” Brady growls. “You’re so fucked for this, pledges. Get ready for some serious fucking punishment.”
Carter saves just a little bit for me, handing the bottle over and then shrugging as Brady still glares at him.
Brady scoffs as I kill the remaining rum. Just as I toss the empty bottle to the floor, the door swings open for a third time. The whooping and cheering on the other side has risen a few decibels as the song fades out. Trevor eyes the bottle on the ground and then up toward us, laughing.
“Smart motherfuckers,” Trevor says, grinning as beads of sweat take up his brow line now. His eyes fall on me. “You ready, boss?”
I shrug, my heart pounding in my chest, but my face reading Sunday morning. “Let’s do it,” I say, walking toward him, enjoying Brady’s defeat.
Trevor puts a hand on my back, leading me into the packed club. He laughs as the announcer shouts into the mic, working up an already worked up crowd. The spacious bar is filled top to bottom with frat brothers and their dates, dressed up and all their eyes on me. Mac is in the process of getting his clothes back on at a table by the bar, he looks to be cursing under his breath, which brings me a smile, and Jeremy whoops it up for me from beside him, clapping his hands wildly.
I flip him off.
Leaning in, Trevor says, “Just down to your boxers, man. Until the song stops. For them right there.” He points toward the dance floor where the crowd is dispersed and an opening awaits. At the back of the dance floor, seated in chairs that line the wall, four girls clap and cheer for my approach.
My heart fucking pounds.
“Everybody give it up for Biiiiiiishop!” the announcer shouts over the PA system as Trevor pats me on the back one last time before he scurries off toward some brothers beside the dance floor. The unmistakable beats of Sugarhill Gang’s “Apache (Jump On It)” overwhelm the sound system. I take a deep, steadying breath. My head starts bobbing instinctively as I get closer to them. My thoughts pass to Fresh Prince of Bel-Air … Will and Carlton … and I smile, letting the thoughts comfort me, while moving my head a little more with the music. As I approach the seated girls and scan their line, there, at the very end, is Ember, looking on with intrigue and gleeful anticipation.
I swallow thickly, ignoring the anxiety that creeps into my mind, and, instead, I focus on the rum and how light it’s made my feet feel—how loose it’s made my hips. As the liquor warms my skin, the inhibitions I normally possess snuffed out like a trapped rat, I move my body. It’s not some Magic Mike shit, but I can hold my own.
As the chorus hits for the first time, I find myself in front of the row of chairs and pretty much slow fucking the air in coordinated movements. Some of the girls get into it, dancing right along as I strip my t-shirt off. One of them looks a little nervous, her eyes flitting from me to the bar to the crowd and then back, her bottom lip between her teeth as if she’s punishing herself for looking at my naked torso, and it’s her I focus on … well, her and Ember. I know Ember’s watching. And maybe I’m saving her for last for a reason. Maybe I want to toy with her.
I pull my belt off next, immediately wishing I had spent much more time at the gym than I have been, as I’m half-naked now, in a room full of people, and sucking in doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. Then again, I’ve always been harder on myself than I should be.
The crazy thing is, I don’t feel any of them behind me. It’s as if they aren’t even there; my focus is locked on the four seated before me. There’s an electric ball of energy in my chest, right at the base of my throat, and I wear a smile from ear to ear that lets me know I’m doing something I never thought I would … and loving every minute of it, if I’m being honest with myself. The jolt of pleasure you get when you push yourself outside of your comfort zone is unlike any other.
I flip the belt toward Ember down the line, and she catches it, a wide smile stretching across her face. She folds the belt in half and whips it lightly against her other hand as she quirks an eyebrow.
Unbuttoning my jeans, I continue down the line toward her.
I thrust my hips with each step, the nerves completely numb now, and the excitement her smile brings me leading the way. She laughs wildly, batting me away playfully and whipping the belt toward my ass, and it encourages me to fuck with her more. I grab each of her wrists, pinning them to the wall above her head. The belt crashes to the floor as I thrust along to the music. She looks, at first, surprised, and then intrigued. I do one full body air grin with her hands still above her head and fits of laughter overtake her, the fading music overtaken by her deliriously adorable laugh. It’s contagious and gets a bellyful from me as well. I let her arms go and take her hand when the music completely dies and the DJ takes to the mic.
“Thanks for bein’ a good sport,” I say into her ear as I wrap her up in my arms.
She smiles as I let her go, and says, “Thanks for the show.”
Trevor approaches and sets his hand on my shoulder as he laughs. “Hell of an effort, man,” he says. “Now, put your clothes back on and get over there with your pledge bros. It’s Carter’s turn.” He then makes his way toward the back door as I collect my clothes and bring them with me to the guys near the bar.
“Nice work, old man,” Jeremy jokes as I slip my jeans and shirt back on.
“I’m sad I missed you fuckers,” I respond as the announcer takes over the mic again.
“Everybody put your hands together for your last pledge of the night … Carterrr!”
As the announcer starts up “Work It” by Missy Elliot, Carter reluctantly walks toward the dance floor alongside Trevor.
“God, I hope they’re recording this shit. I gotta see yours, Mac,” I say as Trevor finishes his pep talk with Carter before he’s fed to the wolves.
Jeremy bursts out laughing, simultaneously patting Mac on the back. “It was … the best thing … I ever fuckin’ saw,” Jeremy says between laughs.
“Fuck you,” Mac says, crossing his arms and pouting. “I don’t fucking dance.”
“Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips and motion toward the dance floor with my other hand. “I gotta see this shit.”
After Carter’s shameful attempt at stripping for the girls, with moves I hadn’t seen since middle school, the three of us laugh our asses off and bust his balls from across the room. Trevor approaches Carter from behind, patting him on the back, saying something to him with a dissapointed shake of his head. Trevor then motions us over. As we approach, Damian comes up beside him with a mic in his hand and passes it over.
Trevor grabs the mic, taps it a few times, and then says, “Alright, pledges, congratulations on passing Big Sis night. Big round of applause, please.” As he puts his hand up to present us, the brothers and their dates clap and whistle loudly. Trevor waits for the noise to die down and then continues, “You are now to make sure your Big Sis, A, doesn’t spend a dime tonight and, B, parties her ass off. No exceptions.” Trevor motions to the four ladies we danced for and adds, “Ladies, meet your Little Brothers. Big Brothers, introduce them.” Trevor motions toward the chairs lined up in front of the dance floor as our new Big Sisters empty them. “If any ladies want a front row seat for a dance from Damian, now’s your chance.”
As if he had thrown seed for pigeons at the park, a cluster of women race for the chairs, falling over each other as they fight over them. Four of them finally power their asses onto the chairs and the others walk away disappointed.
It’s then that Trevor backs the group of us—pledges, Big Brothers, and Big Sisters—toward the bar, handing the mic back off to the DJ.
“Ladieeees,” the DJ calls out as Ember wiggles her way between the group of Big Brothers and Sisters who are cluttered between us as introductions are being made with the other pledges. I’ve yet to see Sarge. “It’s time to get you a little piece of Damiannnnnn,” the DJ yells, spinning Usher’s “Yeah” as the ladies respond with a chorus of high-pitched squeals.
Ember approaches me, a dangerous little smile on her face, as Damian strides to the center of the dance floor, his jacket, button-down, and tie now scattered across the ground, only a wife beater and suspenders still covering his chiseled torso. All the ladies scream for him, but not Ember. She still looks at me, digging blindly in her purse then pulling out a folded-up piece of notebook paper. She hands it over.
“What’s this?” I ask, half-yelling as I combat the heavy beats.
“From Sarge,” she says, still holding it out for me.
I take it and unfold it, reading over Sarge’s doctor scrawl.
Bishop,
Surprise! Sorry I couldn’t be there. It’s Jonah’s birthday on Sunday, and we’re celebrating in Pittsburgh over the weekend. I got us this really nice dinner cruise and promised not to bring up any conspiracy theories (you have no idea how big of a present that really is haha).
I hope you have fun! I’ve heard around the house that you’re into this Ember girl and I know you don’t get much time outside of pledging, so enjoy this time with her. A hundred in drinks on me. Enjoy!
Big Bro
PS . . . You aren’t allowed to bone your Big Sister.
PSS . . . But, I mean, shit happens.
I look back at Ember, smiling as I fold the note back up and pocket it.
“Where’s this hundred dollars?” I ask, squinting, and she pats her purse.
She motions toward the bar. “Drink?”
“Please. That was fuckin’ intense.”
“Oh, I can only imagine. You did good though!”
“You say that as if you’re surprised.” I grin, leaning against the bar and trying to look as James Dean-esque as I can.
“I mean, you’re white. Odds are not in your favor.”
I crack up so hard it catches me off guard, and I put a hand to my mouth. “You ain’t kiddin’,” I say, dropping my hand and impulsively searching for the barkeep. I really need a drink. With the amount of people packed into such a small area, my heart has been racing since I entered. I know I’m not in any danger, I don’t see myself in a warzone or anything like that, but it’s like a part of my subconscious isn’t quite in the know.
Ember turns, sets her palms to the edge of the bar and leans forward in a way that makes me think she’s trying to show off her tits, or test me. My unavoidable glances are subtle, accordingly.
“I consider myself quite the bad bitch,” she says, shaking her head. “But you will never catch me doing something like that. I’d die of a panic attack before I ever made it on the dance floor.” She laughs as she pulls a twenty from her purse—presumably Sarge’s money—and sets it on the bar top. She then orders two Fireballs from the bartender.
“Well, I don’t think you can die from a panic attack. So, there’s that.”
“Yeah, but I can only assume that I would get completely and utterly shit-canned beforehand. The panic attack would lead to me fainting. The alcohol would lead to me vomiting, and then I’m choking on my own vomit. Ipso facto, the panic attack would’ve killed me.”
“Maybe… or you could say the alcohol killed you. Or the vomit.”
“You could.” She shrugs. “One of those chicken and egg scenarios, I guess?”
“I guess.” I chuckle, and then take a glance around the room. “I’m sure somebody here would’ve saved you though. After you fainted and choked on your own vomit.”
She looks at me with complete seriousness, and she asks, “But would I really want them to? I mean, I just choked on my own vomit, in front of a hundred people, after a panic attack. My reputation’s just, seriously, that fucker’s gone.”
“You know, maybe you could just move… or something. I don’t know. Death seems like an extreme step.”
“Pussy,” she mutters, and then finally breaks into a fit a laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not as much as you, buddy.”
“This a tit for tat game or something?” I ask.
“This is gonna be a long night, isn’t it?” She smiles as the bartender trades the twenty in her hand for the two shots in his own.
She lifts her shot glass and clinks it against mine, her eyes study me.
“I think that’s part of the rules,” I respond, smiling before I throw back the shot as she does the same. We set the glasses back down on the bar top with a loud clink and I let out a manly grunt to combat the throat burn. Her face remains steady.
She quirks an eyebrow. “As I was saying… pussy.”
“Hey now. I’ve beaten dudes’ asses for less.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”
“You sure you can handle it?” I ask, wiping a forearm across my lips.
“Don’t test my abilities,” She responds, and then her hand abruptly dives into her purse. She digs around a bit and the pulls out that pink flask of hers. She spins the top off and offers it up. “Woodford?”
I nod, grabbing the flask, though my stomach turns at the thought. Taking a swig, I fight the disgust from my face and hand the flask back to her. She takes a shot of her own, and then she studies me as she screws the lid back on.
“Ember, aren’t you upset you’re missing the show?” I ask, motioning toward Damian who is now down to a g-string and has his ass in one of the girl’s faces. Brady and Trevor have joined him in semi-nudity on the dance floor, grinding for the giddy girls in chairs before them.
Ember glances over, but her eyes quickly flit back to me. She shrugs. Not my cup of tea,” she says, taking another swig from the flask.
“What’s your cup of tea then?” I ask, and her eyes run the length of my body.
“I’m looking at it,” she responds with a grin.
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“What is it about me that attracts you? Because I know it’s not my looks. The scar and fake eye take away that possibility.”
She sets a hand to my face, her eyes lingering on mine as she says, “I find you stunning, scars and all. And in my honest opinion, it makes it sexier knowing that happened fighting for our country. And besides that, I love who you are as a person. You’re down to earth. And real. More so than any guy I’ve met here. Or ever.”
I nod, not even fighting the smile that stretches across my face. “I could say the same about you.”
“Well, I beat you to it,” she says, that sexy little grin tugging at her lips. “So, I win.”
“Why do I get the feelin’ you always win?”
“You do seem to be a reasonably smart man,” she responds, smiling,
“I like to think so. But I, too, am used to winnin’. So, we may encounter some problems down the road.”
She hesitates, lifting the flask to her lips, but not taking a drink. Instead, she asks, “Are you willing to find out?” with a tilt of her head.
I nod as she takes a small swig and passes the flask back over. I take a drink, swallow against the burn, and say, “I’m one-hundred percent willin’ to find out. I’m even willin’ to be wrong on occasion … a few occasions.”
“Only a few, huh?” She eyes me, a smile building on her face as she nods, digging back into her purse. She trades the flask for another twenty and smacks it on the bar top.
“Two more, Andre!” she calls out over her shoulder.
“Do you know everybody in this town? And why are we even drinkin’ from the flask if we’ve got Sarge’s money?”
Her face twists in judgement. “Do you know how expensive Woodford is here? Fuck no,” she says, poking her tongue out. “And I told you, I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen, remember? I kinda do know everybody.” She takes a step forward and runs a hand down my lapel. “So, how drunk do you plan on getting tonight?”
“That’s a good question. Do we have plans for later?”
“Hmm… I had a few things in mind. They’ll require you not to get wasted and cry rape again though. Or get preoccupied with some invisible nacho platter.” She laughs.
I grimace at the r-word. “Was I really sayin’ that shit?” I ask as Andre delivers our shots.
“You absolutely were. And I wasn’t even planning on giving you the goods.”
“So, what’s changed?”
She grabs the shot glasses and passes one off to me. As she holds hers up, she says, “I like you, Bishop. And I hope you like me too.”
“You know I do.”
“To getting to know each other better then,” she says, and clinks her shot glass against mine, before killing it.
“To the best Big Sis a guy could ask for,” I add, downing my own shot and returning it to the bar top. “No shit.”
“What do you say we take this flask back to your place? Maybe you could make me dinner and we could watch a movie.” Her eyebrows wriggle.
“You ain’t in the party mood tonight?”
“I’m always in the party mood. I’m just not in the people-ing mood tonight.”
“Well, I think it sounds like a great idea then. I’ve got no food at the apartment though, so how about we order a pizza?”
“Make it pepperoni and mushrooms and you got yourself a deal.” She puts a hand out, waiting for me to shake it.
“Mushrooms, eh? A woman after my own heart.” I shake her hand, but just before she lets go, I pull her in and kiss her. She acts surprised at first, but then leans into to me, grabbing my waist. I’ve missed the feel of her satin-soft lips, the taste of the whiskey and hint of spearmint on her breath, the touch of her body against mine. I crave it all, and kiss her with a fervor and passion I don’t recall feeling much of in my life before this. Not outside of combat that is.
It’s electric.
As we part, she smiles, her eyes opening to slits, and she mutters, “Well, that was something.”
“Yes, it was. I fuckin’ love your lips.”
“They certainly love yours right back.”
“I’ve always put a lot of weight on kissin’. A good kisser is hard to find, you know? And worth its weight in gold.”
“You got that right.” She slides a hand from my waist to the nape of my neck, her other hand settling on my chest as she kisses me again. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach me, and I find it ridiculously endearing.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I whisper as I pull away from her, our breath intermingling.
“Now you’re speaking my language.” She grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me toward the door. As I follow behind her, I look around the room for my guys, but they’re scattered all over the place. When I give up and trail my eyes back forward, I catch Brady starring daggers at me from across the room. I crack a smile as Ember reaches the front door and throws it open.
“Quit dragging your heels,” she says with a laugh, slapping a hand against my chest.
“I was lookin’ for the guys so I could let ‘em know I was leavin’, but—”
“Eh, they’re grownups. They’ll be fine.” She throws a hand up, snapping for a cab coming down Main Street.
We make out the entire cab ride to my apartment, and it probably would’ve been awkward if the shots hadn’t started making my inhibitions waver. As we stumble out, I throw the cab driver a ten and shut the door behind us. Leading her inside, it’s hard not to ache for her when I eye her supple ass. It’s hard not to notice the thin line of her thong beneath the fabric of her tight black dress. I can feel a tingle of pleasure at the base of my balls, an ache rooted in my loins.
Once inside the apartment, I smack her ass and motion toward my room. “I’ll meet you in there. Gonna grab some beers.”
“Yes sir,” she says, saluting, before turning on her heel and sauntering toward my room.
I shake my head, watching her as she goes, and knowing that tonight, I will be inside her, experiencing her, feeding this insatiable appetite for her body.
Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I make my way to my room, noticing she’s made herself quite at home. She’s kicked her heels off and she’s sprawled out on the small twin-size bed, the remote in her hand and Saved by the Bell on the TV.
“I love Nick at Night,” she says, taking the beer from me and scooching over so I can lay with her.
“What the hell do you know about Bayside High?”
She gasps, offended.“How dare you! I grew up on this stuff. Nick at Night has always been my shit. Family Matters, Saved by the Bell, Fresh Prince … all of it.”
“Okay, okay. You have to admit not many twenty-year-olds can say the same thing though.”
She pretends to poof her hair out. “I am quite unique, if you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I’m beginning to. So, quiz time, can you sing the intro to Fresh Prince?”
Abruptly, she sits up and starts rattling it off, flailing her hands about as if she’s an MC. “… Shooting some b-ball outside of the school, when a couple of guys who were up to no good, started making trouble in my neighborhood,” I sing along with her.
When we finish, she busts out in laughter, attempting to steady her beer bottle, but some splashes out anyway. She calms herself, wiping the beer on her dress away with her hand as she says, “Don’t doubt me, punk.”
Sitting up, cross-legged as she is, I tilt my beer. “Noted. You are just full of all kinds of surprises, huh?”
She clinks her bottle against mine and then we both take a drink.
“What’s your all-time favorite show? And if it has the name Kardashian in it, I am bootin’ you from this tiny ass bed.”
She shakes her head and sticks her tongue out in a pretend gag. “No freaking way. I hate the Kardashians. I’m into stuff like Parks and Rec and The Walking Dead. Loved Sons of Anarchy, too. And of course, the classics. Friends, It’s Always Sunny, Arrested Development, The Office.”
“Dear Lord, marry me now, woman.”
She snickers. “Good answer?”
“The best answer!”
“What about you?” she asks.
“Well, all the ones you mentioned, for sure. The Walking Dead kind of wore me out after a while, so did SOA, but that’s just me. I gravitate toward comedies. I’ve seen all the dramas … Breaking Bad, Shameless … and they’re all good shows, but after a while, the drama just gets to be too much. A lot of that has to do with my rehab. For a long time, I was in and out of surgeries, stayin’ in a barracks where I knew no one, so TV shows and movies became my escape. The funnier they were, the better I felt.”
She nods. “That definitely makes sense.” She runs her fingertips against my scar, slowly. “Does it bother you to talk about it?”
“No, it really doesn’t. It’s been about three years now, and with it being on my face, I’ve gotten a lot of questions over that time.”
“You’re probably sick of talking about it though.”
“With strangers, yeah. But with people I’m tryin’ to get to know, I don’t mind. It’s a part of who I am. What would you like to know?”
“Do you remember much of it?”
“I remember everything leadin’ up to it.” I take a gulp, the images swirling my mind as they do when I think about it, the hot sun overhead, the death surrounding us, the sounds of gunfire, the smell of burning flesh distinct and pungent. “I remember my buddy gettin’ shot and I ran out to get him, tried to drag him out, and then we were hit. And it just went black. I woke up in a hospital in Germany with no clue as to how I got there or the events that transpired after the explosion. Everything I know I learned from reports.”
“Did your buddy die?”
I nod. “Two of them,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry,” she says, resting a hand on top of mine and squeezing it.
“It’s okay.” I force a smile, motioning to her purse resting beside us. “Can I get that flask though?” I chuckle nervously.
She smirks, taking it out and handing it over.
“I like your style, by the way,” I say, gesturing with the flask before I take a heavy swig.
“What do you mean?”
“The pink flask, the heels with the spikes on ’em, the Chucks, this little badass persona you carry around.”
“It’s no persona,” she corrects me, snatching the flask from my hand. “It’s just me.” She takes a drink.
“Well, I dig it.”
“I dig you and your badass Army persona.”
“No persona, my dear. I bleed Army. I was born and bred for it.”
“What did you do over there?” she asks.
“Infantry.”
“Is that like the frontline guys?”
I nod. “Yeah, we did a lot of raids, counter IED patrols, shit like that.”
“Were you ever scared?”
“Shitless.” I hesitate, letting the three deployments and how different each of them really were wash over me. “It was terrible at the beginning of my first one. I thought every day goin’ outside the wire was gonna be my last. But when it’s not, over a period of time, when you survive your first gunfight and IED blast, you sort of get used to it. It becomes your new normal. So you worry less. Of course, the fear comes back when you lose that first guy, and then the second, and the third, and every one thereafter. Because it reminds you that you’re not immortal. A lot of us veterans, active duty people, we have that feelin’ of invincibility, because we’ve experienced so much. We forget how easy it is to die out there. How valuable life really is.”
Her eyes are saucers, her mouth in an O. “Wow… I’ve never really known anyone in the military, except Zane. And he only deployed once. I was scared to death when he did.”
“What service was he in? I’ve noticed he doesn’t talk very much. Haven’t really gotten to know anything about him.”
“He was Air Force. I’m not a hundred percent sure what he did. But you’re right. I’ve known him all these years and I still don’t really know him. He’s always been the quiet type.”
“Fuckin’ Air Force,” I say, scoffing.
“Oh yeah, you guys hate each other, right?”
“It’s a healthy, competitive hate. Every Army guy wishes he were in the Air Force, even though we’d never really admit it. And every Air Force guy wishes he were on the frontlines doin’ the Lord’s work. They’d never admit it either. They’ve also got it ten times better than us lowlife soldiers. Better bases, more pay, better jobs.”
“So why didn’t you go Air Force?”
“Well, first off, my grades in high school were fuckin’ terrible. They didn’t want my ass. Second, I’ve always wanted to fight. I wanted to be that guy kickin’ down doors and gettin’ into firefights and shit.”
“Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“It was. It certainly was. I loved my time spent overseas. I loved fightin’, doin’ some good, helpin’ people. I guess I just never realized how much it all wears on you. Being in a state of high adrenaline over a year, year and a half period of time, it really gets to a human being. It scars you up real good.”
“I love your scars.” She brushes a hand against my thick facial scars again.
“Thank you.” I smile. “But I meant the internal ones.”
“Well, I love those too.”
“Lady, if you had even a glimpse of those, you’d be runnin’ for the hills.”
She scoffs, shaking her head adamantly. “No, sir. We all have a little internal scarring, some have a lot, and considering yours were caused by serving this country, I think you get a pass.”
“I don’t wanna pass. I just want ‘em all to go away.” I force a weak laugh. “Ugh, how did we even get on this subject?”
“You sure it doesn’t bother you talking to me about it? Because it doesn’t bother me.”
“No, I guess I’m still just tryin’ to make sense of it all.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just, I don’t know, it’s all still so new. I was in the Army fightin’ the enemy for years, until one day I got blown up and the fightin’ just … stopped. And then I was in the hospital fightin’ to get better. And that gave me a healthy distraction for a while. Now, I’m just a civilian. Now, what am I fightin’ for?”
“Why not look at it as a fresh start?”
“Oh, I certainly have. I do. But with every fresh start comes the fear of failure. The fear of the unknown.”
“The unknown can be scary, yeah, but it can be exciting too.” She takes both of my hands into hers and squeezes. “You never know what lies ahead.”
“More liquor in my future, I think. And some other things.” I grin, setting a hand to her cheek and kissing her.
“Pizza?” she asks against my lips.
“And …”
“Saved by the Bell?” She smiles.
God, that fuckin’ smile might end me.
“And…”
She reaches a hand toward my crotch, grabbing a handful of dick. “Oh my,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “You’re going to do something with that thing, I hope. I mean, that is if you haven’t drunk too much.”
I take her beer from her, setting it on the nightstand along with my own. Then I throw her back against the bed, straddling her as I pin her arms down.
“Not a chance,” I say, peppering her neck with kisses, her soft skin blushing with my touch.
She moans, arching her hips up into me as I work my lips and tongue up her neck.
As my lips meet her ear, I whisper, “As much as I love this dress, I think we need to get you out of it.”
She glances up toward her hands, still pinned to the mattress. “I may need those back then.”
“Aw, come on,” I say, releasing her hands and sitting up. “I thought you had skills.”
“Oh, you’re about to find out just what kinds of skills I possess,” she purrs as she sits up and moves her hands behind her back, struggling with the zipper. “Hands-free dress removal is not one of them.”
She manages to unzip her dress and slips the straps off her shoulders. I slide it down her body, and as I do, I admire her flawless skin, a large tattoo of Little Red Riding Hood on her ribcage. Little Red is perched on a swing amongst a densely populated forest of dead trees; a wolf peers from the distance. I trace the tattoo with a finger as I toss her dress to the floor.
“That is fuckin’ epic,” I say, admiring the smooth line work and rich colors. My finger moves from her ink, down to the see-through satin panties she’s wearing, the curves of her pussy lips defined and bringing a wave of desire over me. “These are epic too.”
“You like?”
“Fuckin’ do I. I’d have to be a lunatic not to.”
“I wore them just for you,” she says, and I tilt my head.
“Did you now?”
“I sure did.”
“So, you were anticipatin’ us hookin’ up tonight, huh?”
“If you turned me down again, you would’ve gotten a heel to the balls.”
“Oh, really now. Brady not cuttin’ it anymore?”
Her mouth gapes, her brows pinched together as she says, “Ugh, your timing is terrible. I’m just about naked in your bed and you bring him up?”
As she tries to wiggle her way out from beneath me, I put a hand to her shoulder. “Wait, wait, wait … rewind. Let’s pretend I never said that, okay?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know. The mood is waning. I might need a little encouragement.” As she leans back on her elbows, she passes me a cocky little shrug, eyeing her pussy.
“I think that can be arranged. You just lay back like a good little girl and let me make you come.”
She points a finger at me, narrowing her eyes, and says, “There are no good girls in this room. Now, do something with your mouth besides talking.” She grins, laying back.
“Yes ma’am,” I say, leaning down and kissing her stomach. Her abs clench against me, her body writhing as I move closer to her core.
I don’t start on her pussy right off the bat, instead, biting her inner thigh, licking the spot where her panty line meets skin, and then blowing the saliva dry.
She lets out a quiet moan, a hand moving to my head where she grabs a fistful of hair.
“You better fucking stop teasing me, mister.”
In response, I lick her pussy lips lightly over the thin fabric. She tightens her grip on the good bit of my hair she has clutched in her hand. She drives her hips into my face. With her other hand, she pulls her panties to the side, exposing the most beautiful pussy, and I have to take a second to admire it, to thank my lucky stars that it’s me who gets to see it, and taste it, and touch it. I knew it was going to be good by the way it indented the slick satin of her panties, but hell, that pussy is perfect!
“Dear God, that’s a PSP if I’ve ever seen one,” I mutter, giving my head a quick shake.
“PSP?”
“Porn Star Pussy. It belongs on film.”
“Well, thank you. But I don’t think so. Now, less talky, more licky,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh. She laughs too but does her best to stifle it.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I swoop down, sliding my tongue against her hot entrance, collecting up the wetness that has already taken hold, and then I replace her hand with mine, gripping her panty line and pulling it even further to the side. I want to see the whole thing. I want to savor this moment.
She uses her free hand to grab the remainder of my hair—at least it feels like it—and she lets out a loud gasp, pushing my head into her. I continue licking and sucking on her hot little clit. I can’t get over the taste of it. So good. I could stay down here for hours cleaning her up, hearing her breathy moans, feeling her thighs quivering against my head. I’ve always loved eating a girl out. Shit, it’s essential. But this is something else. This woman has some magic going on down here, or else sex with Joanne wasn’t as good as my memory serves me.
It’s then, my tongue mid-stride, I think of Seymour Butts, a curly-haired Jewish man—rail-thin, with a dick T-Rex would envy. I came to know him through a popular porn film amongst military men. This particular film has been passed from one soldier’s external hard drive to another to another in an endless chain. In the video, Mr. Butts teaches men how to make a woman squirt. In all the things I’ve learned, in all the years of my life, Mr. Seymour Butts is responsible for the most important. He has brought hours of pleasure to tens of thousands of military spouses, girlfriends, and post-deployment one-night stands over the years, and as her beautiful pussy sits before me, I can’t wait to see if I can get her going.
Still licking her clit, I inch two thick fingers inside her, her pussy clenching around them, which makes me want to fuck her right then and there, but I refrain. I love the tease. I crave it. Like pleasuring a woman (And head for that matter), it’s essential for good sex. With the pads of my fingers resting inside her, I start a come-hither motion with them, intensifying the pressure with each movement of my fingers, speeding up as she grinds against me for more.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, squirming against the mattress. “Oh my fuck, that feels so good.”
I continue with this finger movement as I feel the inside of her pussy swell, readying itself to squirt. Licking her bud harder now, I circle it with my tongue and take it into my mouth, sucking it as she pushes her body up into me, her heels digging into the mattress. I know I’m close. I’m so fucking excited, I don’t let up with my tongue or fingers, working them both uniformly until I get it—she lifts her hips completely off the mattress, her pussy digging into my face as she lets out gasps into the palm of her hand. The fingernails on her other hand dig into my shoulder as her cum sprays onto my tongue. I keep the pressure going with my fingers, trying to push her to the brink. As much as she’s squirted onto my mattress and into my mouth, I’m guessing she’s never done this before.
She slaps her palms against the mattress, looking up with disorientated eyes as she takes in the mess of cum now wetting her ass… wetting everything. She puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I-I’ve never done that before.”
“Sorry?” I ask, shaking my head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. That was fuckin’ sexy.”
I push her back down, pulling her soaked panties off and tossing them to the floor with her dress. She follows suit with her bra, and my God, her tits are perfect little handfuls, nipples made for sucking.
“You need to be inside me, right now.” She breathes heavy, taking me in with seductive eyes.
“You don’t gotta ask me twice, darlin’.” I unbuckle my belt, stripping it off quickly and tossing it to the floor, before I shed my pants and throw them into the quickly accumulating pile of clothing at the base of my bed. My boxer briefs go next, and before they’re even at my ankles, my cock is fully erect, a bit of precum at the tip.
Naked now, I settle the head of my dick against her. I work the tip in circles around her entrance, combining my precum with the beautiful mess left behind from her orgasm. A dizzying buzz trails from my cock to my groin with every brush of my head against her clit, and then travels throughout my body. The warmth reverberates, her wetness teasing my head and making it throb with excitement. I love the way she looks at me as I stand over her, the way she bites her bottom lip. Her submissive nature in bed is a stark contrast to her normal self, which makes it that much hotter. A wave of adrenaline washes over me as I enter her slowly.
I settle inside her, the feeling electrifying. Letting out a pleasured sigh, I work my shaft in and out slowly, watching her every movement, admiring the way her hands clinch the bedspread.
“My God,” I gasp as I pick up the pace; her wetness surrounds me, warms me, drives me. I crave the feeling.
“Yes, yes,” she breathes, her hands moving to my stomach, her fingernails raking my abs. “Fuck me, Bishop. I want your cum. I want to taste it.”
Hoooooooly shit.
Any time a woman has said ‘I want to taste your cum, or ‘come on my face’, my dick is in genitalia heaven. It becomes difficult to control. I think baseball, curling, a Michael Moore documentary.
Not yet, dude!
Her eyes stare daggers into me, her hands roaming my body. I can feel the come stirring but continue fighting it off. I want her to go again. As I pull completely out of her, she gasps, her legs quivering as I guide her to her side. Bending one leg and keeping the other one straight, her beautiful round ass is completely exposed, feeding my yearning to return.
“You have such a beautiful ass, woman,” I say, taking both cheeks in my hands and squeezing them. Spreading them, I lean down and lightly stroke my tongue against her asshole. She squeals and then lets out a moan.
“Holy fuck,” she gasps as I circle her tight little hole with my tongue. She reaches back and grabs a fistful of my hair, driving my face into her. Tasting her makes my dick harder than I thought possible and makes the desire to be inside her again too much to bear.
Straightening back up, I grab ahold of her hips and drive my cock inside her. It tightens around me, letting me know she’s close. I pick up the pace, driving my hips into her, feeding off every squeal and moan, breathless gasps, and the way she looks back at me with those hungry, insatiable eyes. I work my fingers against her clit in motion with my hips.
“I’m gonna come!” she shouts, her hands splayed out and grabbing for the pillows. Her body shakes as I drive into her. I can feel a swell at the base of my cock, a tingle that lets me know this orgasm is going to be a good one.
As she screams out, her pussy constricting against me, her toes curling, I feel the buzz rush from the base of my cock through my shaft and back again. I pull out just as the orgasm is about to hit. As I start to jerkoff, she hops to her knees and slaps my hand away lightly, and takes my dick from me, putting it in her mouth and deep throating every inch immediately.
“Fuuuuuck.” The word escapes my mouth without thought, simply driven by utter satisfaction. I throw my head back and groan as the cum releases into her eager mouth, and my limbs go numb, or at least it feels like it.
She slowly pulls back, letting my sensitive cock run along her tongue before she lets him drop. She runs one finger along her bottom lip, and then she sucks the cum off her finger.
I feel as if I could grow hard all over again just at the sight, though I know he’d be very unhappy with me. He’d let me know it by the prickly jolts of pain that resonate from the tip of my dick immediately after orgasm. For this woman though? Bring on the fucking pain.
Catching my breath, I fall to the mattress, my dick slowly ticking downward, and my heart pounding. “Holy fuck,” I say, shaking my head.
“What?” She smiles, resting a hand against my sweaty stomach.
“That was probably the best fuckin’ nut of my life.”
“Shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re so gross.”
“I’m not gross. I’m a guy.”
“Same difference, I guess.” She laughs.
“Goddamn, I need a cigarette.”
She nods. “I think I need one too.”
Lying next to each other in bed, watching Full House with stomachs full of pizza, her head rests on my chest and my arm is wrapped around her. She traces her finger in figure eights against my bare skin. I find myself filled with a budding energy, an undeniable connection to her, an overwhelming joy when I’m with her. I feel more alive than I have in a while.
“You’re somethin’, you know?” I say abruptly, and she tilts her head up toward me, smiling.
“Oh yeah?”
“Definitely.”
“You’re something, too.”
“I just didn’t expect to meet someone like you here,” I tell her.
“Someone like me?”
“I mean, you’re young. Most of the young kids here meet my expectations of today’s youth. I didn’t anticipate meetin’ a twenty-year-old with so much depth.”
She laughs. “You’re such an old man.”
“I know, I know.” I smile, shrugging.
“It’s okay. I’m an old soul.”
“I can tell.”
“And you just used the word nut, so your brain is obviously stuck in the early twenties anyway.”
Laughing, I shrug and reply, “Touché.”
“You surprised me as well, you know. “You surprised me as well, you know?”
“How so?”
“I don’t think you understand how many people were talking about you.”
“I really don’t. I just don’t get it.”
“You’re the new guy, the one with a killer story. There’s like this mysticism that surrounds you here.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s so ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but still, it’s there. And so, when I met you, I was so fucking nervous. I think I half-expected you to be an asshole.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Me?”
“I didn’t know. Army man. Hurt in combat. Older. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“I don’t much like livin’ up to stereotypes.” I grin, rubbing a hand across her naked back.
“You definitely don’t. You are so centered. And down to earth. It’s crazy.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I can be a dick sometimes.”
“If it’s necessary, maybe. But I don’t see you being a dick for no reason.”
“I try not to be,” I say. “I try to maintain perspective. Put myself in other people’s shoes.”
“Well, I like it.” She smiles.
I run my fingers through her hair, admiring her natural beauty and the starry gaze in her eyes.
“Well, I like you,” I respond, feeling corny but not really giving a fuck.
“I like you too, Bishop.” Her focus shifts back to the TV. We lie there, her and I, until we drift to sleep wrapped up in each other’s arms; Nick at Nite serves as our lullaby.