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(A rewrite of a story I published earlier, called Freshman Adventures: It’s Summer. This one follows the female perspective.)
*****
Picture the face of an 18-year-old kid. Shower water runs down his near-total crew cut of a scalp and over his gray-blue eyes. This kid is Dennis Tominsky. He’s staring at the tiles of the shower thinking about his favorite www.collegetrainwrecks.com video, which he just watched, without masturbating. He’s concentrating hard on what looks like nothing, but we can all see that it’s in his head. He’s a plotter, Dennis; a mental gamesman. He looks like if he engaged you in conversation you’d have no choice but to pay close attention to whatever he says; he looks like if he shouted at you, no matter what he shouted, it would bruise. He stares at the tile and breathes softly. He’s gotten good at resisting the temptation to touch his junk at these times. He isn’t a loser who pleasures himself; he’s a man with a plan.
Dennis turns off the water. He has to go check on his grandmother. His grandmother who no longer has full custody of him and hasn’t since he turned eighteen. But you know what? Dennis thinks of himself as such a compassionate guy that he’s sticking around anyway. At least until he goes to college up north. He towels himself off. He dresses in underwear and jeans. He’s a little lanky, with a wart on his shoulder and some acne on his back. At the same time, he cuts an imposing figure. His body isn’t every straight woman’s type, but every straight woman would admit he’s attractive.
Opening the door to his grandmother’s room softly, Dennis peers in at her. Yep, she’s asleep. The sound of running water put her to sleep as usual. Her bottle of pills sits on the bedside table. It’s knocked over, like usual, but at least none of the pills fell under the bed this time. Dennis won’t have to cut into his precious time searching for them.
She snores. Also, usual. It is only now, looking at the picture of his mother on the bedside table, that Dennis notices that she does look like his mother. Except not that much older. It isn’t his grandma’s fault. His mom has already done enough to her body to make her look just a few years’ shy in age of her own mother. How pathetic.
As for Dennis, he’s never seen himself in his mother, not in terms of looks or personality. He more resembles his incarcerated father. But he’s less pathetic than his Dad, too.
Sensing her sleep is deep enough at this point, Dennis reaches into her open purse, lying on the floor, removes a wad of twenty dollar bills just crumpled up in there like used napkins, and folds them up nice and neat. Under the twenty, he locates what he’s looking for; a bottle of Oxycodone. He puts it in his pocket with the twenty. He grins. He gently shuts the door.
*
Cheryl Peters stands on the sidewalk outside the house. She hugs herself through her green velvet shirt. Why does he make her stand in the cold like this? She rehearses snapping at him for it and decides it’s pointless. He would just stare at her. He would tell her not to speak to him in that tone. Then he’d apologize and kiss her.
She hears a text message come through but it isn’t from Dennis. It’s from her best friend Clarissa. Clarissa says babe listen, do not, I repeat, DO NOT fuck him this time
She has not thought of a response before the door opens and Dennis Tominsky stands there, arms crossed, grinning.
“Aren’t you going to give me a hug?” Cheryl asks.
“Nah.”
Cheryl sighs looks away. Dennis laughs. He approaches Cheryl. He kisses her cheek. He brushes away her hair.
“How’s everything?”
“It’s…okay.”
“You must be nearing heat stroke or something.”
Dennis looks over her whole body as he says that. The velvet shirt that dips into a V shape and shows the upper edge of her bra; the light-blue jeans with the black leather belt; the steel-toed gray shoes. She used to get nervous when he looked over her whole body. Now she gets slightly wet.
“Let’s get you inside,” Dennis says, taking her hand, curling his fingers into hers and leading her inside.
“Um, just so you know,” says Cheryl, on the stairwell, almost at the heavy wooden door that’s loose on one hinge.
“What?” Dennis says, whipping himself around at the door, like a predator.
“Just so you know, we’re not having sex this time,” Cheryl says. “I just want to hang out.”
Dennis observes her for a few seconds. He smiles with one side of his mouth.
“Dennis…I’m serious, it isn’t anything personal, just-“
“Do I look like I’m offended?”
Cheryl looks away, at the wall with the paint peeling.
“Look into my eyes.”
Oooh she can’t believe he said that. Why is he doing saying the same thing he tells her to do sometimes during sex? Why did he have to just put the image of his face bobbing above her’s into her mind?
Cheryl looks into his eyes, squinting, trying to look pissed off.
“Earth to Cheryl. I said, do I look offended? Am I ever offended by anything?”
Cheryl shakes her head.
“It’s Bostancı Escort cool, we won’t.”
Dennis opens the door. Cheryl hesitates for a moment, looking at his hand holding the door, at the snake tattoo on his arm with the tail ending at his knuckles. She steps inside, her heart beating in total defeat and anticipation.
*
Dennis moves the lighter around the interior of the bowl. Cheryl watches the light move. Her forehead already feels light. She doesn’t know if she regrets bringing the pot or if it’s better this way. She doesn’t know how to take it that Dennis gave her twenty dollars for it. Does that make her a drug dealer? “Relax, it’s called common courtesy,” he’d said, as a means of explanation. She must have looked terrified. Dennis inhales and exhales smoke into her face. Cheryl brushes it aside and giggles. She hardly hears herself giggling. She just knows it happened.
Now Dennis is crushing up a pill on the coffee table in front of the T.V. Is that one of his grandmother’s pills? He snorts it. His head jerks back. He inches the remainder towards Cheryl.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You were serious last time?”
“I’m always serious. I’m the most serious person in the world. Literally never joking.”
He looks at Cheryl and smiles. Cheryl’s laughter is gradual, something that trickles out of her mouth before bursting out.
“Dude, no wonder you failed math,” she says. “That’s what you get for actually snorting shit like this.”
“I didn’t fail at anything. I chose not to pass,” Dennis says. He brushes the dust into his hand.
“But hey, it’s cool. I’ll just throw this dust out. Everything in moderation, right?”
Dennis gives her a look that makes him look a few years younger, suddenly. Cheryl considers that this means he looks underage. Then she reminds herself that they aren’t having sex this time. Dennis stands to go to the trash.
“Wait,” says Cheryl. Dennis stops and doesn’t seem surprised. It annoys her.
“Move your hand this way,” she says.
Dennis does as she says. She leans over his open palm with the pill dust still neatly lying there, feathery. She reminds herself that she has never snorted anything. She reminds herself that this should be the first and last time.
Cheryl tries it. She feels the redness shoot into her eyes. Her head cocks back. She giggles. There’s an explosion sound on the television.
*
Cheryl takes a shower. The warm water soaks over her. She didn’t need to do this (she showered before coming over). She just needs to get her bearings. On the couch she felt things she shouldn’t feel about Dennis, not anymore. She felt a tingling sensation sitting next to him. It’s just the drugs, Cheryl. They’ll wear off.
But it was my decision to snort the stuff off his hand! What’s wrong with me?
Nothing is wrong with you. You’re just horny. And this guy is not the solution.
But what if he is?
She turns off the water. She stands there with her eyes shut, in a meditative moment, a “mindfulness” moment, as her yoga instructor taught her and takes a few deep breaths.
Damn. This oxy stuff is strong as fuck.
*
Later, Cheryl lies on Dennis’ bed, looking at his collection of Polaroids. Of course he’s into photography, but collecting Polaroids? It’s almost hipster.
Dennis enters, his teeth all brushed. He gets out of his towel and gets into pajamas. He checks his text messages at his desk. He barely acknowledges Cheryl, back in her silk pants, her purse sitting beside her, as if she’s ready to go.
Cheryl returns his bare acknowledgement. At the same time, she can feel it; his peripheries on her legs, studying the pair of thighs his head’s already been between.
Cheryl feels a tingle in her crotch. She laughs a little, and, to make it sound natural, says,
“How much time do you spend at the thrift store anyway?”
Dennis glances at her. Cheryl holds a Polaroid of a family scene around a dinner table.
“Not much. People mostly just give those to me. The question is how much time does the thrift store spend at me?”
Cheryl drops the photos. Another one of his obtuse answers.
“You’re a real pain,” she says.
Dennis comes close to her. He looms above her. He kisses her on the forehead. He crawls into bed beside her.
“What are you doing in my bed, bitch…” he mutters.
Cheryl slaps his shoulder.
Within minutes, they are cuddling. Dennis’ eyes are shut. He looks totally at peace.
“Were those your grandmother’s pills?” she asks.
“Hmm?”
“The stuff we snorted.”
“What? Nah. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”
“And she’s just been asleep this entire time?”
Dennis smirks. He puts two fingers on her lips.
With this gesture, a charge runs through Cheryl. She can never quite explain it. It’s only happened with certain guys.
“So you’re gonna go soon, I guess?” he says, as if he doesn’t care at all.
Cheryl finds she can’t quite answer, not even dishonestly.
Dennis Ümraniye Escort puts a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re tired. You need some sleep.”
Fuck. Another tingle.
Cheryl shrugs.
“Not really.”
“Nor am I.”
Next thing she knows, they are kissing. Dennis on top, caressing her thighs. Long and with lots of tongue.
Oh God, she thinks. Here we go.
*
Dennis unrolls the waistline of her pants. Cheryl watches them slide off her legs and her feet and fall somewhere into the dark bachelor pad oblivion of the room. He places his hands on her feet and slides them down her legs (good call shaving this afternoon, after all), down her thighs. Cheryl only now becomes aware of her own breathing. It’s loud and it’s hard. It is probably a major turn on for Dennis. His fingers reach her mound and she inhales in three high breath-notes.
As he kisses her, sticking his tongue in her mouth, her slides his hands under her pink underwear. Cheryl trembles a little. She holds on to his shoulders. She feels momentarily embarrassed about her underwear. He rests her legs flat on the sheets. Dennis pulls her underwear off all the way.
Oh jesus just hurry up and get your fingers inside me, come on Dennis hurry—uuuuuhhhhh!
She realizes she moans out loud. It’s a long pant.
His forefinger and index finger penetrate her lips, burrowing in and circling around. She can feel her fluids encroaching on his fingers.
Dennis looks down at Cheryl. He sees a damp spot on her underwear that Cheryl’s already assumed was there. Cheryl looks up at Dennis. She sees a bulge under his pants. He bends over, putting both hands on the bed.
“I only want to do this if you want to do it,” he says, looking right at her.
Cheryl’s breaths are heavy. Her eyes are wide as she nods. There was no hesitation. Just a quick nod that she didn’t even realize she was doing.
Dennis puts his hand on her stomach, palm down. He moves it up to her breasts. He lays his head sideways on her chest, and slides down, past her bellybutton, kissing the strip where her stomach meets her pubic trim. He looks up at her. He snorts.
“Calm down,” he whispers. “You’re always so nervous, and then it’s so good and you stop being nervous.”
He brushes her hair.
“Hey,” he says. “Calm down and you’ll like it even more.”
He kisses her again and, still swirling his fingers, moves his head between her legs.
Minutes later: we can either look at Cheryl, or we can just look at her hand.
Let’s look at her hand.
She grabs—no, seizes—the mattress cover on the side of the mattress, pulling at it and letting go in tandem with her vocals;
“Uh uh uh uh uhuhuhuhFuck!”
Her fingers seize the fabric in a crinkled bunch. They let go.
“auhuhuhuhuhUH—”
Another seize.
Moving further away, we can see the muscles in her arm flexing and going flat, flexing and going flat, and her head, cocked to the side, facing that arm. Her face is getting flushed.
Dennis’ head moves like it’s possessed. You don’t see older men with this kind of energy. He swishes his head side to side, bumping into one of her thighs, brushing against the other. His finger is now at the top of her mound, working its way around her clit.
Cheryl grabs at his head. The same seize with her fingers, except on his hair. Dennis pulls away and snorts, this time not from laughter.
There are some moments of breathing, facing her crotch and catching his breath. Cheryl releases sharp spurts of air, hearing her voice pitched higher than she thought it would be, feeling the sensations pouring out of Dennis’ tongue tip and curling across the nerves of her vulva. When she opens her eyes, she sees her shoulder. Dennis’ tongue stops. He says,
“Cheryl, I want you. I’ve never wanted anybody this bad.”
On the bed, now in the dark, Dennis lies on top of Cheryl, moving in and out steadily. She breathes. Long breaths. Her hand is visible brushing across his back. The last two times they had sex it wasn’t this nerve-wracking, or this exciting for her. The bed starts to creak as Dennis picks up the pace.
He stops. Cheryl pulls him close to her and they kiss. He pulls out of her. Cheryl can’t believe it, but Dennis removes the condom that’s on his cock and tosses it in to the dark floor. He plants one hand on Cheryl’s thigh, the other on her foot. He massages her up and down her calves. Cheryl sees that her vagina is already messy; pink and unfolded in several directions. She watches Dennis guide his bare cock inside her and Cheryl trembles a little. She wonders if it will hurt. She’s never had unprotected sex.
His cock rams all the way inside her and a pain shoots up her stomach, but also a wilder sensation. Cheryl makes a sound like;
“HhhhhhAAHH-“
. A series of intense tingles run from her vagina down her legs).
Dennis whispers,
“Do you like it rough?”
“I…yeah I like…”
“I’m gonna fuck you harder…”
Dennis proceeds Kartal Escort to do pretty much what he said he would do. Cheryl gets in one last sentence,
“Dennis…be careful…” Her words dissolve into other sounds. Sounds made by the mattress mingled with sounds made by her vocal chords.
Cheryl thinks that the word knuckleheaded guys at school used to describe sex—pounded—really did accurately describe what Dennis was doing to her right now. He’d gone slow the first time and only a little harder the second. He’d made her cum from oral the first two times they were together but not from intercourse. He hadn’t ripped off the condom.
The sex gets rougher over the next few minutes. She feels his hands on her inner thighs, feels him spread her legs apart. She’s released so much air from moaning that she has to swallow. For the first time she hears his breath rather than her own; it comes out in rugged bursts.
The mattress makes seesaw noises. Cheryl hyperventilates. She feels Dennis’ cock stabbing her walls, jostling her stomach around and with it there are the crescendos of tingles, of fuzzy pleasure rising like an increasingly confident chorus inside her. She opens her eyes and sees her feet. They twist in the air above her, one gripped by Dennis’ hand, the other foot just following along, on almost the same plane. He has scrunched both her legs against her body. He evidently hasn’t gotten off yet; her ex-boyfriend Charles would have ten minutes ago. Jesus, this dude has stamina. The sound of skin slapping on skin is audible.
Amidst the mattress squeaks, the shuffle of the sheets, the male grunts, Cheryl’s raspy soprano gasps;
“Uh uh uh uh Dennis uh uh uh fuck…”
Sloppy wet smacking sounds
Oh my God I’m wet. Oh my fucking god I can hear it.
Dennis seethes.
Cheryl feels a long wave rise up. She has never felt this before, exactly.
“Ah ah ah ah AH AH AH AH I’m close AH AH A-“
Dennis’ releases her thigh and plugs a hand over her mouth.
It travels through her body. From her vagina up across her flopping tits and into her fingers. It is the best tickle possible. Cheryl’s hands shut around the pillow. Her legs buckle and her thighs squeeze Dennis’ waist.
Her eyes are squeezed shut tighter than her thighs. She can’t see shit. But she can hear Dennis when he groans-
“Look at me.”
Cheryl open her eyes. Dennis wears a shit-eating grin. He chuckles a little.
“Fuck baby…” he laughs. He holds her thighs against his waist.
Cheryl can’t see this, but she feels it happening; between her squeezed thighs, her pussy contracts. Folds receding in with Dennis’ cock motions. When it retracts back, specks of fluid pop out from between her vulva and Dennis’ nuts. They find their resting place in the creases of the mattress cover.
Dennis freezes and collapses on top of Cheryl. She feels a jet of warm liquid shoot off into her. In spite of her general numbness—a pleasant numbness, all over her body—she thinks,
Shit. I should have started the pill this summer.
*
Look at Dennis’ cock. I know, I know; you might be a heterosexual male. You might also be a heterosexual woman who thinks this is just getting too crude, too virile. But look at it for a moment; as he walks across the hallway to the bathroom, cock swinging lightly, erection not subsided all the way, we can see that it’s slick. White, slick and shiny. As he walks it catches the light. It’s almost a work of art, except that it’s actually disgusting.
Dennis turns into the bathroom. His cock hanging above the toilet, he removes a handful of toilet paper and applies it.
*
Look at Cheryl’s vagina. It’s all red and messed up; looks like a first draft of a Georgia O’ Keefe painting. She sits on the edge of the bed and dabs at it with some tissues that she always carries. Delicately tucks her labia back together. Some of Dennis’ cum drips out of her and stains the bed. There are other stains on the bed, too; a blotch beneath where her butt was positioned. Oh, but there’s some stuff on her inner thigh, too. Her own juices. She dabs at her thigh and clear woman-jizz comes off. She stares at it for a moment.
Dennis Tominsky: So yeah Cheryl Peters lol
Dirk Johnson: What about her?
Dennis Tominsky: Shes a squirter
Dirk Johnson: You banged her???
Dennis Tominsky: Yeah I got with Pencils
Dirk Johnson: Haha why did we start calling her that again?
Dennis Tominsky: Don’t remember. She’s sleeping right now let me wake her up and ask her lol
Dirk Johnson: THE SPONGE
Dennis Tominsky: She really took a dick, I was surprised
Dennis Tominsky: She was always more into me anyway.
Dirk Johnson: Ya wutever dude no reason to rub it in
Dirk Johnson: Dude. You aren’t gonna hook up with that junkie chick again this weekend, right? Now that pencils is ur girl?
Dennis Tominsky: She isn’t my girl. And that junkie chick has a name you misogynist pig. Adria. And maybe I will maybe I won’t.
Dirk Johnson: Oh jesus
Dennis Tominsky: (Inserts smiley face)
Dirk Johnson: You sure she’ll be around?
Dennis Tominsky: Anywhere there’s drugs there’s her
Dirk Johnson: How old is she anyway?
Dennis Tominsky: I think like 28. Has a kid she says.
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