Chapter 14 Jessie
Jessie
“What’ll it be, boys?” asks my dad. He’s just put the stack of pizza boxes down on the coffee table in the media room. I’ve already been subjected to the fucked-up-ness that was the pizza party conga.
I wait for Luke to say, “Get The Party Started,” but he doesn’t. He gives me a small smile and says, “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
Rachel is so surprised her mouth drops open briefly. “ACDC? Nice one, Lu!”
My dad and Rachel waste no time getting into it.
Before Brian Johnson even gets started on the vocals, they’re moving.
It’s appalling. Bone-chillingly bad. Worse than it’s been in the past, and that’s saying something.
Best I can tell, what they’re doing is a horrifying bastardization of the tango.
Luke is doing his usual high intensity aerobics, or whatever you’d call it.
He punches the air in time with the music with one hand, and bites down on his bottom lip with the extreme concentration his performance demands of him.
I feel like I felt at the beach yesterday, only this time I’m aware of it as it happens, and this time I can’t stop the smile.
I can’t even come close. Something big and out of control starts to bubble in my chest. I fight it but I’m powerless against it.
Short, sharp bursts of laughter erupt out of me.
I clamp my mouth shut but that doesn’t help.
All it does is change a helpless giggle into a dry snort that bursts out of my nose.
Luke feels my eyes on him and stops moving.
His smile freezes and vanishes like steam that’s been wiped off a mirror.
He casts a quick look at our parents. He finds them totally oblivious of us.
He looks at me again, sweet and soft one second, and the next he’s not.
His eyes blaze and he arches his head back.
Slowly. Deliberately. He watches me through hooded lids, running one hand down his chest drawing my gaze down his body to his hips.
He starts moving again, but not like I’ve seen him moving before.
Not like I’ve seen anyone moving before.
He rolls his hips. A slow, controlled circle that looks like sex.
Exactly like sex. Like slow sex. The kind of sex that lasts all night and changes your life and alters aspects of your personality permanently.
The kind of sex I want to have but haven’t had yet.
It’s so sensual it feels like the oxygen has been snatched from my lungs and viciously snuffed out.
It’s quick. The whole thing only lasts for a few seconds. Four or five seconds at most, then he’s back to aerobics. The difference is this time, he’s the one laughing and I’m standing in the middle of the room with our parents a few feet away, fuzzy-headed and sporting an uncomfortably hard cock.
I barely taste my pizza. I can’t tell when I’ve chewed enough to try swallowing.
The movie is agony. It’s long and painfully boring.
I couldn’t outline the plot if my life depended on it.
Luke has crammed himself between Rachel and I, the same as he did the first time and every time we’ve watched a movie together since then.
His thigh is pressed firmly against mine and his meaty shoulder digs into mine.
The only thing I can smell or taste or think of is him.
I sit stock still, fighting the urge to put my hand on his leg and slide my fingers roughly between his thighs.
I don’t do it, though. I stay still and think of the way his lips felt on mine last night.
Fleshy and soft. So soft. I think of his dick, pressed against my belly, then pulsing in my hand.
My thoughts consume me. They make me feel crazy.
When we get to a loud scene in the movie, I lean over and whisper, “Can we go back to our place, please?” into his ear.
He shows no sign of having heard me, but a few minutes later he puts his hand under the blanket, resting it in his lap well within my reach.
I wait as long as I can and then I bury mine too.
He remains perfectly still, and I move as slowly and stealthily as it’s possible for a man to move.
I slide my hand under his, palm up, lacing our fingers together and squeeze hard. He squeezes back harder.
The sight of the credits rolling is such a welcome sight it makes me believe in God, and the goodness of people, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, this shit show called life really does have some meaning.
“It’s still early, how about a board game?” suggests my dad.
“Uh, I don’t really think board games are Jessie’s thing, Greg,” says Luke.
“Yeah, nah, thanks, Dad. I’d rather make out with a blue-ringed octopus.”
Luke chatters as we walk out to the guest house together. “Damn, how long was that movie? Thought it would never end.” I try, but I’m not able to rouse a flicker of irritation. “Were you hard the whole time?”
I don’t answer, but I do lengthen my strides.
“I was,” he says softly. “I still am. And Jessie, I know you were too. I could feel it.”
“You couldn’t feel it. You weren’t touching me like that.”
“That’s not how I feel things around you.”
That gives me pause. This is turning into a little more talk about feelings than I’d like, so I sigh and keep walking. He seems to sense it because he changes the topic.
“When we get inside, can I blow you?”
The problem with Luke is that he looks so fucking sweet and acts even sweeter, so when he says things like this, it makes me feel like my brain’s had a factory reset.
I grunt something in response. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.
I lengthen my stride again. Not enough that I’m running.
That would be sad. A brisk trot, that’s how I’d describe it.
The second we close the door he has his hands on my waistband. He pulls down on my jeans without loosening the button. I have to help him, the second the button and zipper are open, he has my jeans and my boxer briefs around my ankles and he’s on his knees.
“Jesus!” I exclaim.
He raises an unapologetic shoulder. “Waited so long.” He presses his face up against me, breathing me in. “Can’t wait any more.”
I’d love to say that what follows is a perfect, mind-blowing blow job.
It isn’t. He has no idea what he’s doing and it shows.
He takes me by the root and holds me in his hand, swallowing as much of me as he can.
He manages the head and that’s about it.
He uses teeth when he pulls back the first few times and when he starts sucking, he sucks a little too hard.
I flinch, even though I don’t mean to. My personal feelings about blow job etiquette have always centered around the strong belief that it’s a privilege to have your dick in someone’s mouth and you should act accordingly grateful.
“Sorry!” He looks up at me, nervousness and disappointment written across his face.
I don’t want to see him looking like that. I don’t like it for him. I shuffle over, pants still round my ankles and sit on the arm of the sofa. “C’mere.”
He follows on his hands and knees. He looks so fucking hot on his knees, a big part of me wants to forget all about the blow job and get stuck in behind him.
Slowly, I think. Slowly, slowly. He’s a virgin. Everything we’re doing is new for him.
“Don’t rush it,” I say, pulling my T-shirt off over my head. His eyes track down my body, stuttering and coming to a stop at my chest. “Take your time.”
He runs his hands up my sides, palms down flat.
He’s transfixed, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he moves his hands towards my pecs.
His touch is light and controlled now. He uses his thumbs to flick my nipples, forcing me to take a sharp intake of breath.
He takes his time, tracing circles around my nipples and worrying my piercings until I find it hard to stay still.
By the time he moves his focus downward, he’s in the zone.
This time he licks my crown, making me wet before he takes me into his mouth again.
“Use your lips to cover your teeth." He does and the next time he swallows me, it feels way better than it did before. “You can suck, but not too hard. Just suck like you’d suck your thumb, you know?” He nods and starts bobbing up and down.
“It’s harder than it looks,” he says, smiling sheepishly, when he comes up for air.
He has that familiar sheen of hope in his eyes. When I look at him I feel like I’m drowning. All I can see is blue. Soft, steady blue that sparks and hopes and promises in a way that makes me feel twisted. It cracks something open in me.
It makes me stroke his face and say, “It feels good, Blue.”
“You like it?” he smiles a little bigger than could ever be considered cool.
“Yeah, I like it.” I’m not lying. He’s learning, but he’s learning fast. He takes me back into his mouth and murmurs softly around me when he hears my words.
He likes it. He likes hearing my voice. “You’re making me feel so fucking good.
” He starts stroking me at the same time he’s swallowing me.
My abs clench and I groan in pleasure. I reach out and stroke his hair out of his face.
I do it over and over. I want to touch him.
I can’t wait to touch him. I want my hands all over his body.
I use both hands, stroking his face, holding his head gently in my hands.
“You look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”
He moans in response. He pulls back and looks up at me, then rubs his cheek against my shaft, first one side of his face then the other. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers. “I love your dick.” He has me in his hand and can’t seem to drag his eyes off me. “It feels so good.”
I don’t know much, and I’d consider myself lucky if a single synapse is firing right now, but I do know that no-one has ever looked at my dick the way he’s looking at it right now; like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
The next time he swallows me, he takes more than before, he holds me tighter in his hand too.
It starts feeling seriously, dangerously good.
I feel myself slipping. It feels like it’s happening slowly, but it’s still happening too fast for me to stop it.
I get up onto my feet and that changes the angle.
Fuck. That makes it feel even better. It’s toe curling, fist clenchingly good now.
The soft, wet warmth of him awakens the worst in me.
I have his head in my hands. My fingers are knotted in his hair.
He’s moaning loudly every time he sinks down on me.
I’m close. My hands hold his skull like a vise.
I arch back involuntarily and start rocking my hips.
Hard. I do it hard, grunting and groaning as I do.
I lose reason. And I lose caution. The only thing that exists is his throat and my dick.
I don’t know how long I lose myself like that for, but the second I realize what I’m doing I stop and pull out.
I’m shocked by what I’ve done. This is Luke and it’s his first time having a dick in his mouth.
The last thing on Earth he needs is a skull fucking.
I tilt his head back, so I can see his face and assess the damage. My guts constrict. I’m scared. I fully expect to see a full complement of fear, regret, and large, watery blue eyes.
I feel sick.
Damnit! This is why I told myself to stay the fuck away from him.
He meets my eye. Instead of fear or regret, I see nothing but a picture of lust etched into his features. Dark shadows drawn under his eyes, pupils black, and excessively large. Mouth open and gaping. Breathing hard and uneven as saliva catches the light and glistens on his chin.
Seeing him like that is all it takes, my orgasm rushes out of me without notice.
I cry out in shock and a desperate attempt to give him some warning.
He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t skip a beat.
He closes his eyes and opens his mouth. I come so hard and so long, I feel like blacking out is a real possibility.
I’m doubled over, hanging onto his shoulders for balance by the time I come back to myself.
He's unbuckling his belt and opening his fly. I’m far from well-coordinated right now, so I push him back roughly, all but tackling him onto the floor.
I grab what’s his and I make it mine. I consume it.
I take everything I can, every wave, every pulse, every spurt, every moan.
I take it all and swallow it down the way he swallowed mine.