Plain Black Tee

1

"Decision time, O'Connor. What'll it be?"

I looked at the pile of same-ish white shirts again. And the two sitting before me. I held one up, then the other, bringing the soft cotton uncomfortably close to my face.

The whole concept, I suspected, was bullshit, so I approached it like those standardized tests, back in high school when plaid flannel dinosaurs roamed the earth: process of elimination. Half the shirts smelled like the inside of a gym bag left in the hot sun for a week. No. Half of the remaining ones I ruled out because they'd tried to cheat the assignment by adding cologne. If all I can smell is Axe body spray, I'mma assume you have the same depth and personality as a can of that.

That'd left three, and one of them had B. O. that I wasn't about, which left two. Whoever owned these, I thought, gave a halfway fuck about hygiene. One was, I guess, a little more ramen-y and the other a little more garlic-y? I was splitting hairs by now; these were notes so faint I might be imagining them. Guess I'll go with Mr Garlic.

I turned to Jessa, and with exactly the same confidence with which I'd have read tea leaves, I proclaimed, "Uh... this one. Yeah. This one!"

My peers in the circle gleefully chanted: "O-pen it, o-pen it!"

"Arright, arright." Tucked in the shirt's breast pocket was a scrap of paper. Rather buzzed myself, it took a while to find the crease, and unfold it one, two, three times...

"A. R. We gotta A. R. up in this bitch? Oh... right," I said, trying not to look crestfallen. "It's you."

Let me back up a bit, though.

When I was in high school in Asheville, NC, I went through a mean girl phase. Neglectful but well-off parents, check. Pink velour tracksuit, check. Trailed by one or more hopeless suitors and enjoying it too much, check. And honestly I wasn't even a first tier hottie. I was just normal good looking and played it up well, thanks in no small part to my precocious skill and boundless imagination for makeup.

One of those would-be suitors was Adam Rzeznik. I appreciated Adam. He was kind of all over the place--social climber one semester, trenchcoat mafia the next. He had a winning smile. He was on the track and swim teams, so he had a decent build. Unfortunately for him, he also had serious social awkwardness and a tendency to run his mouth.

Sophomore year, some footballers got a hold of a little poem he'd written titled "Ode to That Ass." Knowing he was into me, they took the liberty of renaming it "Ode to Millie O'Connor's Ass." And putting his name on it. And printing lots of copies.

Our entire graduating class could smell blood in the water. Adam and I both braced ourselves for the shitstorm.

Predictably, kids ragged on Adam incessantly. They tried multiple times to scam him into going places to meet me out for a supposed date, and got the nicknames "Ass Pirate" and "Dread Pirate Rzeznik" to stick. His response to this coordinated abuse was atypically subtle. He blank-face ignored the teasing, answering only when necessary, with benign or vaguely snarky answers that gave the vicious social climbers little to grab onto. Years later he explained that he was already in therapy, and his psychologist had taught him this strategy, which he referred to as "gray rock," to deal with the narcissists in his life.

Only once, when someone publicly tried to drag me into it, did Adam lose it. He threw a single well-placed punch that got him suspended for a day, and shut up the offending kid. Then, when the initial hubbub had died down slightly, he surprised everyone by showing up to lunch in a pirate costume, complete with tricorn hat.

At a well-picked moment when most of our grade was coming to or from the cafeteria, his antics drew a crowd. "The trenchcoat mafia is dead!" he declared. "Long live the tricorn mafia!" He even had nonsensical flyers that advocated "redistribution of booty" and mocked some of his bullies in limerick form. In one moment of bizarre spectacle, Adam got on top of the narrative.

Meanwhile, all the mean girls had stumbled all over each other to feign sympathy for the embarrassment I must no doubt be feeling. Nobody asked how I was feeling. I was feeling a lot of different things. I'd been quietly a fan of Adam's poetry for years--we were both contributors to the Jr. and Sr. high school lit mags--and when I read that poem, I got all kinds of red in the face. I hadn't seen any Internet porn at that point. The things he was offering--very politely--to do with my body were shocking.

If I weren't so mortified by the public scandal I might have said it was sweet, in a typically fucked-up Adam sort of way. But admitting this would be social suicide. Being anywhere near him was social suicide.

So, I made a spectacle of my own. I politely and very publicly turned him down.

I went on to date a boy at school who also wanted to play with my ass, and wasn't gentlemanly about it. Whether fair or not, I blamed Adam: the bullshit had rolled downhill, and I had become typecast as "backdoor Millie." I told that boy to go fuck off. In response, he tried to assault me. So I decided all boys could fuck off. Stupid and rapey and presumptuous and you can never be too guarded around one. I drifted away from friends who didn't understand my plight, and made connections instead with the queer girls and the weird girls.

Alexandra Carson, for instance, with whom I bonded over make-up stuff. Alex identified as a radical bimbo. She fought unsuccessfully to make her senior quote "Hoes can do anything." So it shocked nobody in our circle that she got full-ride to Chapel Hill for computer science.

It wasn't until college that I found people to date who treated me and my body with respect, who helped me to open up and grow into my hoe self.

College was, among other things, a great palate cleanse after the disgusting drama of primary school. My makeup and art portfolio won me a scholarship to the highly exclusive Vitesse Institute in NYC, my folks paid for an apartment in Bushwick, and the City did its thing to my parochial southern brain. Not only did I learn I was bisexual, I learned that I was a leftist. Honestly I couldn't tell you which was a bigger shock to the folks back home. At any rate, I could tell the Apple was a little too big to be my permanent home, so ultimately I jumped at an offer I received to work on the Atlanta production of RENT.

At a mere 3.5 hours from Asheville, Atlanta was perfect for me. It had all the things I held dear as a southerner, and as a makeup artist, but with a population of four hundred thousand, a modern urban vibe, and politics to go with it. Plus I was at advantage with my family. I could jump in my Civic (or later my old Yamaha PC800) and see them any old weekend, but it was a little more involved for them to gather up my baby sister Christine and their Yorkshire terrier Phyllis, and pile into the Town Car.

So long as it was on my terms, though, I did love to visit. I liked the music scene in NC and neighboring Tennessee, and I still had some friends in the area. Most people my age who'd stayed had become insufferable neoconservative little shits. But some turned out alright. A few had never really bought the bullshit, they'd always been out ahead of me on the road of political self discovery.

One of those was Alex, who by now had emerged with a master's degree in network engineering (after exchanging Matrix or Ghost in the Shell-inspired looks with me on our webcams all through undergrad). She quickly scored a high-paying remote job and got herself a gorgeous house in the quiet suburb of Marion.

It was Alex who convinced me, one sunny day in April, to drive up from Atlanta to meet her, not in Asheville but in big city Charlotte. I love Char, she has a special place in my heart as well. While not the famous theater hub that is Atlanta, Charlotte is actually a much bigger city, the second largest in the southeast. It's a place where you can find and do anything in the space of a day--shop big label, eat a fancy lunch, go to a museum, shoot rifles at the range, and then score some tasty barbecue and a milkshake.

We were on our way into the Queen City Outlets that day, to look at dresses for a club opening that night. Alex had raved about it, and I'd used my theater industry connections to get us spots on the list. (I was getting a little old to drive multiple hours and cross state lines in the hope a bouncer notices me.)

As we rounded the corner of the mall entrance, a man passed by us. He was our age, kind of in the gray area of being my type or not, and I wouldn't have said I was instantly attracted to him. But there was something jarring about him. I couldn't figure out what.

He looked like your typical metal and punk guy, for the most part. He had straight-fit black jeans and Docs, despite the 90 degree heat; a white-on-black band shirt with the name in unintelligible demonic scrawl; square rimmed black glasses; a smattering of visible tattoos, most notably the "bXe" on the back of his left wrist; a clean shave, and short jet-black hair. He had a hint of a gut, but his arms were jacked. His face radiated health and joie de vivre.

I didn't even realize I was staring until he hit back with an ambiguous grin. Then he was past us, and it was over. Or so I thought. Alex had latched onto my forearm and was shaking it insistently.

"Mil! Oh my god, do you realize who that is? That's Adam!"

"Son of a b--I thought he looked familiar." I turned and watched him go around the corner.

I hadn't thought about Adam in a couple years. I had to admit, gut or no gut, the kid had glowed the fuck up.

Thus, I was vaguely aware that Adam was out there kicking around southern NC. But we didn't cross paths again for another year and a half. Once again, the blame lay with Alexandra.

On a rainy Thursday morning, I was going over some concept art in my Atlanta studio when I got an inscrutable text message from her:

"Two words. Pheromone party. U in bitch y/n"

I called her half an hour later. "Phero-what-now, bitch?"

"Girl, remember how we said this is the year we level up our hoe game? Welp opportunity is knockin. You remember Jessa Pickens?"

"Lemme think. Ah, yes, I remember Jessa Pick-Me, vice queen of the pick-mes. A real horse's ass."

"She's better now. Honest. And she's throwing one of those parties, where the guys all throw their worn t-shirts in a pile, and you gotta pick one out that smells right to you. And whoever that shirt belongs to, you go home with!"

"Alex, that is a terrible idea. Like scientifically shaky and practically ill-advised."

"It would be, but I've seen the guest list and FB-stalked every man on it. They're all hot. We can't lose!"

And so it was that against my better judgment, I found myself filing into the living room of one Jessa Pickens, whom I once hated. And to my astonishment, also filing in, along with a host of other well-built men our age, was Adam Rzeznik, incidentally the main reason I'd hated Jessa. She had been so unkind to both of us that year in high school, all in hopes it would benefit her station. From what I could tell, it hadn't. But ultimately, thanks to family, she had landed on her feet back in Asheville, where she managed at Trader Joe's and owned a lovely flat.

I strode up to her and said, "Seriously Jessa? Him?" I'll admit, I was feeling uncertain and it made me at least 50% more surly than usual.

Jessa rolled her eyes, a motion she'd elevated to an art form long ago, and said, "Nice to see you too, Millie. And since you asked. Yes, Adam and I have some mutuals now, and when I saw his picture, I messaged him to apologize for being such a godawful bitch in high school. By the way, Millie, sorry I was such a godawful bitch to you both in high school... But I mean Jesus, look at him, he's swoony!"

I nodded. "Not bad, I guess, if you're into hardcore kids. Look, I'm sorry, that is no way to greet a hostess. I'm glad we're reconnecting. Glad you seem to be doing well. That said... if I were Adam, I'd never trust you after the shit you pulled in school. I gotta know. How did you bury the hatchet?"

In response, Jessa flashed her trademark yokel grin. Years of braces had straightened it out quite neatly. She leaned over to me conspiratorially.

"We hooked up last fall. I sucked his dick, hee hee hee hee hee! It's nice."

Bless that girl and her dorky disarming laugh, it always feels like a breath of fresh air.

I moved on through the room, to where Alex was standing. Her look tonight was a vague homage to Dr Frank N Furter, unless I missed my guess.

"Oh Alex dearest, you forgot to mention one little thing," I said. My anger was melting away, but I still felt I had to at least make note of my annoyance.

"What. Him?" she said, cocking her head vaguely in Adam's direction. "Sorry not sorry, bitch. He's hot, and hot does a hoe good. For what it's worth, I earnestly hope you do not get Adam. Because I want him. I'd let that poet fuck me in the ass in a heartbeat."

"What if I do get him?"

She shrugged. "We're all adults here. If you're down, you're down. If not, I'm sure you'll find somewhere to let him down discreetly. Oh, shit. Girl, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean anyth--"

"Don't worry about it, let's just do this thing. Hoe goals, right?"

2

I didn't want to show it, but that last remark from Alex really burned. I did regret the way I'd ended things with Adam. I didn't think he would still be sore about it, but it was a point of shame. I'd taken a hard look at myself after that, and resolved not to be like my folks, not to be like, say, Jessa. Not to be like the herd.

Hence, when it came time for selection, and most of the guests had recently had their one drink for the night, so they could be of relatively sound mind and body before leaving... I had just pounded my third.

"A. R. We gotta A. R. up in this bitch? Oh... right. It's you."

And Adam, bless him, he just smiled kindly and said, in his gorgeous manly tenor: "Yep. It's me. Shall we talk in the hall?"

Someone in back, whose face I couldn't see, began snickering. But he cut off with a curse when Jessa elbowed him in the gut. Everyone else either didn't know about the elephant in the room, or followed Alex and Jessa's lead and kept their respectful silence.

"NEXT!" she shouted.

It was blessedly quiet out in the hallway.

I kicked myself for the words that spilled out of my mouth first, but I went with it:

"Did you know we would both be here?"

Adam waved his hands in innocence. "Nope, nope, nope. Jessa didn't tell us guys who-all is coming. That's apparently how it works. Still, I am sorry it played out like this."

"It feels a bit on-the-nose."

He nodded. "I would really like to get to know each other again. But for tonight, maybe we should just go our separate ways."

"That's, uh, not gonna be possible. I need you to be my designated driver. I couldn't possibly take the Yamaha home in this condition."

"You ride? That's badass. I wish I rode."

I waved him off. "You? Think I'm badass? Get outta here. Actually, let me show you the old hog. And then we'll get outta here."

The sky over Asheville proper was cloudless, but as light-polluted as ever. I had a moment of nostalgia for the summer when mom, dad, sis and I went RV-ing in the Smoky Mountains. We'd really pulled together as a family after the whole Adam-gate thing had left me so distraught I had to go into therapy. Practically unheard of for our family. O'Connors solved their problems in the traditional ways: fucking, fighting, drinking and target shooting. Sometimes in that order.

Anyway, it prompted me to ask:

"Where d'you live nowadays? Somewhere with more stars than this, I hope?"

Adam tilted his hand in a so-so gesture. "Morganton. It's still pretty washed over, but drive out 20 minutes into the Blue Ridge and you can see the Milky Way real good."

"Shit, I would love to see that. Take me up there and I'll suck your soul out your dick."

"Hm. Let's start with a trip to the nearest Waffle House, to see if we can't suck the booze out your stomach with some carbs."

"Make that Cook Out, and you got yourself a deal."

One chicken sandwich with fries and a peach cobbler milkshake later, I was, in fact, feeling a bit more like myself. I'd narrowly avoided becoming a sloppy emotional drunk in his presence; I thanked my luck and his quick action for that.

"So," I said in the drive-thru lot, in the passenger seat of his Forester SUW.

"So. Talk to me, Millie."

I took a deep breath.

"Okay. For starters, let's get the obvious out of the way. I'm sorry how things left off Junior year. That was shitty of me."

He sort of shrug-nodded. "It was, but... we were kids? And I'm sorry too. It's my fault we both ended up in that situation. I should have never put those words to paper, knowing how words have a tendency to get out."

"About that. Not to be rude, and honestly no judgment, but... Are you..."

"Still the Dread Ass Pirate Rzeznik?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, yes, but actually no. You're no townie, so I might as well say it: I'm bisexual. So I've given and received plenty of ass. But, like, also calmed the fuck down about it. How about you?"

"I'm also bi, amusingly enough. And, uh... I did try anal sex. Doesn't do it for me, though." I took another deep breath, and sighed. "It feels really good to have all that off my chest, and know we both turned out alright. I'd had this fleeting, crazy thought that you were still out there nursing a crush."

Adam grinned. "We're too awesome to be kept down like that."

"You are so right. Say. Do you remember when we ran into each other last year at Queen City mall?"

"Whuuut? Get outta here. I think I'd remember you looking this fine."

"Pssh, you flatterer. So can I hang out at your place for the night? I don't know if I want to do anything sexually, but I could at least take a load off, and catch up."

"I'd fucking love to." Adam practically flung the car into reverse, and I had to brace myself to not spill my shake.

We talked the whole ride about what we'd been up to. My years at Vitesse. Adam's time at UNC, where he dual-majored in history and communications. It turned out he and Alex had partially overlapped there, though of course, it was easy to not run into someone on a campus that size.

"Before I enrolled, I lost three semesters to a dark spell," he explained. "I had an incel phase, I had failure to launch, and in retrospect a lot of issues from denying my queerness. I got depressed. Then I got into coke. Luckily I hit bottom fast. I am not cut out for that world. Got beat up, got busted, went into rehab, picked myself up."

"I'm glad you made it out. How'd you stay out, keep yourself from relapsing?"

Adam raised his left wrist from the wheel in answer. "I found a better drug. This."

"Not a bad choice of drug, I have a few tattoos myself."

"Oh, I meant the X. For Straight Edge?"

I smacked myself on the forehead. "Right, fuck, of course. I knew that looked familiar."

And he wasn't preachy about it, either, which I appreciated. Personally I liked to smoke the occasional joint. But for Adam, a drug-free community, and the prospect of getting his ears absolutely pummelled by death metal and hardcore punk, was worth far more. He'd settled in Morganton, where he started Dead Joara, 'an alternative coffee shop and progressive straight edge hangout', and was within a reasonable drive of every music venue from Asheville to Charlotte.

For his part, he was enthralled by my gradual transformation from Millie the fake plastic mean girl into Millie, the hog-riding makeup artist who Gave A Fuck™ about people. He was especially impressed that I'd designed Angel and Maureen's over-the-top makeup looks for the Atlanta production of RENT; he and a Larson-obsessed boyfriend had gone down to see it.

When we did finally reach his modest, slightly messy apartment in Morganton, the past had been effectively de-fanged, and I was feeling good about the night. He turned to me, hand on the ignition key, car still running and said,

"So, should we drive around and sober up some more? Go elsewhere? Or keep talking upstairs?"

"Option C. But first, kiss me."

Adam nodded nonchalantly, then leaned over and pulled my face close to his. His big, warm, soft lips knew exactly how to seal with mine, and exactly how much flutter of tongue was appropriate for a first date makeout. Thank fuck. I couldn't exactly take Jessa's word for it that the man knew what he was doing.

"Mm, yes. That's the stuff. I definitely want to see that dick tonight."

3

We stumbled up the staircase together, him with his back to it, me the aggressor threatening to put him off balance. A couple times we tipped over and he found himself sitting on the step, with me leaning into the kiss. Finally he flung his door open, scooped me up, carried me over to the couch and laid me down on it.

But an interloper had appeared.

"Aww, Missy, no."

"Missy, YES. What an adorable baby!"

Adam's little 10 pound miniature pinscher, Missy, had come over to see what the ruckus was about. She barked twice, leapt onto the couch and licked my face.

"... And she likes you already. Wanna come with us while we walk the block?"

"Hm. I think I'll flop down and drink some water, if that's cool."

He nodded, fast walked over to the kitchen and came back a moment later with pitcher and glass in hand. "Here ya go. By the way, I'm not much for coffee, but there's an electric kettle and various teas on the counter, so help yourself to whatever." The dog grumbled and whimpered as he leashed her. "Hey hey, it's okay girl. You can kiss the nice lady more later."

I smirked. "You, sir, are a gentleman who knows what a lady likes."

While he was out, I put on some hot water to make oolong, and looked around to get my bearings. The place was cluttered, yes, but tastefully appointed. Nice carpeting, comfy furniture, little busts of Oscar Wilde and Albert Einstein, and two thoughtfully arranged walls of music and art and political posters:

Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son

Black Flag

Pansy Division

Between the Buried and Me, Colors

"Freedom for Angela Davis"

A pink triangle, "Silence is Death"

A circle with three downward facing arrows, "Blue Ridge Anti-racists"

Michael Hussar's Morphine

Moving on, I scoped out the hallway, the little home gym and office, the bathroom and bedroom. No prominently displayed guns or katanas, no porn mags left sitting around, and no prescription anti-psychotics in the med cabinet. Yes, I was being that girl, but we had a weird history. Now I felt that much more sure about tonight.

Best of all: he had a bidet! I grew up with one (see: mean girl O'Connor) and missed it now, as an adult whose salary didn't quite rate places with bidets. This one seemed to be a bolt-on attachment, the likes of which I'd never seen before, and while it was cold water only, it got the job done. I made a mental note to ask about it later.

I was back on the couch, waiting for my tea to finish steeping, when the door opened. There was a click as Missy was unleashed. She came running right back to me.

"Hey girl, you're back! Hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of making us both some oolong tea."

So Adam took a mug and plopped down next to me, with Missy going back and forth between us and basking in the attention. We talked about apartment living, about punk and politics, on which I knew relatively little, and about fashion and politics, on which he knew relatively little. Before I knew it, our teas and our waters were drained.

Seemed like it was my turn to say it this time. I took a deep breath. "Hey," I said, and I leaned over and kissed him. Closed mouth, but lingering. "I'm still down if you are."

He kissed back enthusiastically, and came away with a big goofy grin. "I am, but first a few questions. You okay with hickies on the neck? On the tits?" I nodded yes to both. "How do you feel about hair pulling?"

"In moderation."

"Making you beg for things?"

"Also in moderation."

"Face fucking?"

I grinned back and waggled my brows. "I said I'd suck your soul out, and I meant it."

He put his hands up. "When you're queer and kinky and on the autism spectrum, it always, always pays to ask specifics."

"I appreciate that. You know, looking back, I might have guessed you were--huh. I'm sorry, do you mind if I take this? It's Alex."

"That's totally fine." Adam swung himself up and onto his feet and started down the hall. "Meet me in the bedroom, kay? And tell her I said hi!"

I put the phone to my ear. "What's up, bitch?"

"I should ask you the same, bitch. You was supposed to check in."

"Oops. I was having such a nice evening I forgot."

"Good, that's what I hoped."

"How's yours going?"

"Ridonculous. This guy, Tod, is a firefighter. Not very creative, but he's big, strong and takes directions well. I'm calling in between rounds. Fixing to be thrown around all night by this guy. How bout you?"

"We drove around sobering up, so I only just made it to Adam's place. He is such a good kisser. And he has the cutest little dog! I'm texting you a pic of her. Oh, and Adam says hi."

"Hi, sexy pirate Adam! So girl. You gonna give him that ass?"

I glanced down the hall; it was empty.

"I don't know. You know how I am with butt stuff. Been having a good time not thinking about it. And yet... now that I am, my heart just did a little backflip. Should I?"

"If he's as good at sex as he is at kissing, then hell yeah. Give that boy something he'll remember for a longass time. Just be sure you get yours too."

"Okay. I better go before I chicken out. Love you bitch!" I clicked off the call, and wandered down to the bedroom with Missy trailing behind. "Alex says, and I quote, 'hi sexy pirate Adam.'"

He smirked. "From her, I'll take that compliment. So y'all are still tight, huh? No offense, but you always seemed so... straightlaced, next to her."

"Yeah, I've been blessed to have her for a corrupting influence all these years. She's the best. So. You ready to pick up where we left off?"

He smiled and nodded. "Missy? I'm sorry, darlin, but you're getting sexiled. You'll get face time with the nice woman later, alright?" The dog let out a whine, but trod off to the living room when he pointed that direction. He closed the door after her.

Not wanting to waste another moment, I caught Adam at unawares and shoved him back onto the bed, then climbed on top of him and kissed him hard. He got a hold of my hair, gently but firmly tipped back my head, and began trailing kisses down my chin and neck and cleavage. Every few kisses, he'd give a nibble or suck out a little hickie. I shuddered despite myself.

His moves were raw, aggressive, and highly effective. Perfect for us, here, tonight.

I leaned back and let the straps of my dress and my bra slip from my shoulders. The bra opened in the front, and I couldn't resist the temptation to give him just a moment's tease, hiding what lay behind it before tossing it aside with a big smile.

"Give me some of that." Adam wrapped one thick arm around my back and pulled me close to his face, cupping my left breast with the other. I shivered at the grazing touch of his nose in a wide circle, then as he planted lips and tongue at the edge of my areola, I let out a delirious moan.

Adam hadn't just glowed up. He had leveled up. This wasn't just a realization of a boy's dream; it was years of a man's experience and experimentation, now brought to bear with single-minded desire.

I had to wonder. Was he truthful when he said he never thought about it? Was he this good because he'd lived life so fully in my absence, or was he putting in extra because somewhere in the recesses of his adult mind, he'd carried a torch for Millie O'Connor?

I didn't get much time to wonder, though. Adam was copping a solid feel on my ass and cunt, panties pulled to the side to chart the contours of my bits, and it was getting pretty wet down there. My moaning became a gutteral growl from deep in the throat.

He looked up at me with admiration. "Nice death growl you got there."

"Death what?"

"That sound, you hear it a lot in metal and hardcore. Comes from a set of false vocal cords just above the real ones. Supposedly ancient humans used it in war and hunting."

"Once a nerd, always a nerd, huh?"

"Guilty as charged."

4

"Maybe you should be running that mouth praising my dick sucking skills?" I suggested.

"Or should I be running that mouth on your cunt?"

"Hm. Split the difference and sixty-nine?" I asked. Adam nodded profusely, and I got off of him long enough for him to scoot back onto the bed and undo his pants. Then I turned myself around, hiked up my dress, and straddled his face.

Once again I was forced to agree with Jessa Pickens: it was a very nice dick. Moderately long, respectably thick, ever so slightly downcurved. The head of it shone like purple marble from Adam's arousal.

I licked my lips, spat on my hand and grabbed a hold of the cock. It felt substantial. "Beautiful. Just give me a minute to work up to it before you try choking me with it."

"Same," he said, and lifted his head up to make contact with his tongue.

Shit. Fuck. Yes.

Alright, I admit it. This geek could eat pussy better than any man I'd been with, on par with some of the women. And not in the way of some John Hughes bullshit contrivance, not because Adam had mentally rehearsed for sex every night of his life while other men thought only of football and blowjobs. (I did date one guy who was the latter. One was more than enough to last me a lifetime.)

No, if I had to try and put a finger on what the difference was, it was that he just threw himself harder at life. In much the same way that motorcycling, pink clubwear and theatrical makeup looks made me feel good and extra, Adam liked to go out in all black and collect more tattoos for his sleeve, spend a night out at some tiny club getting his ears absolutely pummeled with extreme metal, or spend it in, writing perverse and highly inventive Resident Evil fanfiction.

When it came to eating pussy, he had that same play-hard attitude. Variation in speed and technique, over-the-top Cookie Monster vocalizations, the occasional playful bite, and a reckless need to smother himself.

I got off once, a sweet little popcorn pop of an orgasm, before I could even break out of my reverie and get around to sucking Adam's dick. When I did, the thought crossed my mind this might have been a tad easier on my knees right-side-up.

But I managed it. I let myself gag a couple times to bring out the spit. Then I balled my left fist, let the nails dig into my palm, flicked my tongue across the tip just to be sure I had his attention, and sank, slowly and steadily, down his six inch length, letting it shove my tongue out of the way and press stubbornly against my palette. I felt his rock hardness strain, yield slightly, and then glide nice and smooth down my throat.

Adam's hand shot out and grabbed a mitful of hair to hold me in place. His hips rocked with clear, aching need to use my holes, and his dexterous tongue vied for my attention, pressing hard as it traced around the perimeter of my labia.

Well, two could up the ante. Dick still buried in my throat, I shook my head around every which way. I worked my hips and thighs and bore down on him with my cunt, cutting off his air. He pinched my nostrils shut. Feverishly we humped each other's faces until we came apart, both gasping. I coughed up a spatter of thick spit from deep down.

"Alright," he said, panting, "I think we both proved our point. Let's dial it back to something more sustainable."

He loosened his grip and I lightened my pressure. Slower and with a bit less sadomasochistic abandon, we fucked each other's mouths. The gentle slide of his cock into my throat, then all the way back out until I could tongue lash the tip of it, made me incredibly horny. For my part, the urgent bucking of my hips as I orgasmed, this one long and powerful and dribbling down over his face, made him moan ecstatically into my pussy.

"Fuuuck!" I cried, as my mouth came free of him, his erection clutched like a mic in a deathgrip half an inch from my lips. "You eat like a beast!" The next moment, he caught a hold of my hair again and shoved hard, stoppering my cries.

By the time my abs stopped clenching, the pace of his dick fucking my mouth had picked up to a sprint again. Moments later it was done: he grabbed me by the hair and shoved, and held me there, my nose to his ballsack, screaming and swearing and praising my "sweet fuckable mouth". I didn't taste the cum, save for a little hint of it as he pulled out. But I felt him tense as it pumped into my esophagus. It seemed like a lot.

"Jesus Christ," I said as we finally came apart. I spun around to lie beside him, and then my knees buckled and I almost face-planted. "Do you always eat pussy like that, and talk filthy like that? Or are you in your feelins?"

He looked back at me all shifty-eyed. "Well... I think so, but... Okay. Don't be mad, but I may have fibbed a little."

"Fibbed?"

"I do remember us running into each other in Charlotte. You were wearing a blush colored top, and I think gray lululemons. Knew you from a mile away."

"Ah-hah!" I said, smacking the bed for emphasis.

Adam sighed, and rested his big hand on my hip. "I did not carry a torch for you. Can't stress that enough. And I really was as surprised as you, when you saw me at the party. But that day in Charlotte? I did think to myself, wow, Millie's ass has only gotten better. And when you unfolded the paper and read my initials... my heart did a backflip. I tried to play it cool, I was so afraid I'd seem overeager."

I took a moment to process this. Adam soberly released his grip on me.

"So, uh, yeah. Sorry I wasn't straight with you about that. I get it if you'd rather not continue--"

"Don't you dare move," I said with a grin. "Or do, actually, I need you to get some lube. Adam, I like your enthusiasm. I like that this means somethin to you. To my surprise, it kinda does for me too. So, I've changed my mind." I slipped the dress over my head and tossed it aside, and wiggled my bare butt at him. "I want you to have this. I want you to show my booty some of that fabled reverence. And fuck my ass until you run out of fuck."

The sucking of air between his closed jaws told me everything I needed.

"Come again?" said Adam.

"That's what she said," I replied with a grin. "See, I had an epiphany tonight. After AdamGate, boys I dated started asking me for anal. It was gross and pushy, and I knew it was only because of the "backdoor Millie" thing, but I was really fucked up in the self-esteem. So I gave in, I tried it. Didn't like it, didn't hate it. But he was beside himself, it was like his ego was gonna float him right off the ground.

"Couple years later, I was hooking up with a guy I liked, a much nicer guy, and I remembered that other boy. So I offered. I even lied and told him I liked anal, which was stupid, because then in the middle of it he asked if it was making me come. I faked an anal orgasm for a dude I barely fucking knew.

"I got in a rut. I have never gone into it thinking of myself, and I've never gotten off from it. But if I know anything about Dread Pirate Rzeznik, it's this: he worships ass like a true believer, and he would never put it in my ass and not do his damnedest to make me come. Am I wrong?"

Adam smiled warmly and considered his words. "First of all, I'm so sorry that that's been your experience. No one should be pressured into doing things for someone else's sake. And no, you're not wrong. I can do better than that in my damn sleep. I'll try my best to make it orgasmic, but I guarantee I'll make it fun. If you're sure that's what you want."

"Perfect. Where do you want me?"

"Bent over the side of the bed," he said as he threw off his shirt and underwear. Damn. The back and shoulder muscles on this guy were droolworthy all by themselves. "Oh, and don't you dare turn around and peek. In fact I want you to close your eyes."

I waited in awkward silence while Adam rummaged loudly in the closet. Shit, now that I was pointedly not looking, the anticipation was gonna drive me nuts. I heard gloves snap.

"Alright sexy, deep breaths in, deep breaths out." He planted a single tender kiss on my left ass cheek, and started massaging my butthole in lazy circles with a lubed-up gloved finger. "How's that?"

"Mmm, not bad. You can probably go a little faster."

"Ah, but that's my little selfish conceit," he said as his middle finger slipped effortlessly inside, "to take my damn sweet time."

"Alright. If you insist."

He kept up that pace, too. It was another sixty seconds before he was in me up to the last knuckle, and he kept it like that a while, crooking his finger expertly to push my buttons.

I'd never noticed this before, but it felt a lot like having my pussy fingered. It made me hungry for something bigger, though.

At last I felt him slip in a second finger, and that one also took its sweet time to sink in. "That's lovely," I said, "but seriously, I can take more. I want more."

Not missing a beat, Adam reached out with his free hand and gave my hair a yank. In his sultriest voice, he said, "I'll decide when that ass gets more, you got me?" I just about melted into the sheets.

When his two fingers slipped back out, I whimpered a little for them. In response, he casually shoved his thumb in me; and before I could get used to that, I felt the hot, wet caress of his tongue against my clit.

"Shiiiiiit, Adam, that is nice."

"You want more?"

"Fuckin of course I do."

"You'll have to beg for it." I couldn't see his face, but I could picture his evil smirk vividly.

"But I don't want to," I mewled.

Without hesitation, he spanked the moon of my right ass cheek good and hard. It stung, and it made me tense up on his thumb. "Beg, damn it."

This fucking boy. "Please, eat my cunt!"

I heard him take several deep breaths, and felt the warm exhalation on my bits. My pelvic floor twitched expectantly--and then he was on me, kissing my clitoris, nose half buried in my cunt, giving me the full Cookie Monster. All the while, his thumb rocked back and forth. It had set up shop in my ass like it owned the place.

"Aw, shit, you're gonna make me come like that."

"No, not like that." Adam got to his feet and rested his wrapped-up dick against my soaked cunt. "But maybe like this." His thumb was still up my ass nearly to the second knuckle. Slowly, inexorably, he slid his dick into me until our bodies came together.

I'd experienced my share of dick, some considerably larger than this one. But this was a new and delicious sensation of fullness. I leaned into it hungrily with the tilt of my hips.

"Oh, ohhhh, ohhhh. I see your game now. You're a bad man, Adam Rzeznik. You cheat. You use evil, nefarious techniques."

He laughed, and started to pick up the pace. "A philosopher once said, 'A man may touch or kiss his woman any place, any way that she desires.' So I think I'm on pretty solid ground here."

"You bastard, just let me come this time."

"Oh, very well." I felt his angle shift as he stood up taller.

"Ho-ly fuck, that's the fucking spot. Fuck!"

Soft and sweet came my third orgasm of the night, both my holes now squeezing against Adam. It didn't hurt at all. He gave my ass an affectionate pat, and waited for the contractions to wind down.

5

"Ready for the main event, gorgeous?" he said, as he let his fingers slip free.

"You cocky motherfucker, let's go already."

"Now what do we say when we want something?"

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, fuck my ass already!" I whined.

"On your back, then. Call me a sap, but this part is way better with eye contact."

It took a little shimmying and adjusting, but soon my ass was dangling just off the edge of the bed, with pillows propping up my head and the small of my back. Adam's big strong arms supported my legs. He generously doused the condom with fresh lube.

"You said you can take it pretty hard," he said, "so I'm using a nice thin lube. If we need to slow it down, I've got thicker stuff in the closet. So, uh. How do you feel?"

"Nervous, but excited. You?"

"Same, if I'm honest. Hence the cockring, it's my little insurance policy."

Fuck him, he certainly looked confident as he slid his penis back and forth across my vulva and clit. When he finally set it against my asshole and began to push, my breath caught in my throat.

"Sorry, this always takes a second... ahh, there you are." Just the tip of him was in me now, and I struggled to keep my holes relaxed--not because there was any discomfort, more like I was too fucking eager.

"More, please. At least give me the head of your cock. Please."

He gave me the warmest, dopiest grin. "You look so pretty and sweet when you're pleading for cock." He pressed into me, and I felt a satisfying slip as the widest part of him got through the narrowest part of me. "Oh, yeah, there we go."

And, as if it needed to speak for itself in agreement, Adam made his penis twitch inside of me. A subtle but titillating gesture of enthusiasm. I answered back with a quick clench of my cheeks, and caught the little smile on his face that said he'd felt it.

Full of pep and absurdly aroused, I fixed him with a stare. "You feel fantastic. Now give me the rest."

"Oh, we're getting there, sugar. Better that you feel teased than rushed." And here you could really see the Adam difference. Most men would get this far and take it as time to start pounding away mindlessly. Adam wrung nuance and aching need from every step--meaning in this case, he pulled all the way out, and stuck it in again, and again, spreading me open with a little less subtlety and more force each time, until he was fully fucking me. His neat, shallow strokes denied me the fullness I craved but did evil and delightful things to my anus. Reflexively I began to play with myself.

"You had the right idea. I like watching you fuck me."

"Yeah, and I get to see you all blissed out and pretty, touching yourself."

I reached out and put my hand to his chest. "There's just one thing missing. You on top of me, holding me down and kissing me, filling me."

"I don't know, how aroused are you?"

"I am no longer a girl that's horny. I'm one giant horn that's slightly girly."

"Showtime," he said with a nod, and slowly pulled out. I felt like I might become dopesick if I waited, so I all but catapulted backwards toward the pillows. And dropped the politeness.

"Get over here you bastard, I need your cock. I beg you."

Those words seemed to tickle him. He did a little jig, his stiff cock swinging about like a tetherball, then leapt onto the bed. The moment he reached me he was throwing back my legs. He had on the biggest, most winning Adam grin of all time.

In the periphery of my vision, I could see him aiming himself, and then he was in me--first a relief, then a blissful thrill, then a deep and overwhelming pressure that made me feel like my eyes would bulge out of their sockets. I knew that pressure. What was new was feeling it without discomfort or obligation or hurry, free to examine and appreciate it.

"That ass," he whispered in my ear, "is mine."

Finally he pulled back, and began reaming me out with long, slow strokes. Every thrust a jolt to my senses.

"How's that?"

I smiled meekly. "You finally got around to... rearranging my guts, I see."

In a second, he had my wrists pinned back behind me with one hand and was groping my tits with the other.

"Still having a good time?"

"No, I'm having the best time."

He bent down and kissed me, and this time it wasn't subtle, it was winner-takes-all tonsil hockey.

"How are you... so damn good at this?" I said breathlessly between kisses.

"Cause details matter? And there's that... fucking other men thing... You learn shit."

"You know what you are? You're... green apples... and honey."

He looked at me quizzically as he kept pounding me. "How d'you figure?"

"You're sweet and... delicate, but also tart... biting... and challenging."

"I think of myself as a soft dom... but I like your description."

A familiar and bittersweet tension was creeping over my gut, narrowing my vision, making it hard to think of anything but my desire to be fucked to completion.

"I think if you go a little harder, I'mma come."

Adam smiled broadly and released his grip on my wrists. "Same. Feel free to get loud... the walls are thick, and it turns me the hell on."

"Oh, I'm not usually a--" but the words died on my tongue.

Adam had hunched over and lunged at me; he necked furiously and fucked just as furiously. Even then, there was precision and care to his movements that felt un-guy-like--a piston and shaft, not a jackhammer. In every stroke our pelvises ground together, and his cock sank deep into my ass evoking poignant, primal satisfaction.

I tend to think of my orgasm as a shy, sweet woman who looks like me, and comes out to play when things are safe enough and interesting enough. But that lady wasn't home right now. This orgasm was a she-beast. I heard her lumbering towards me long before I spotted her. She was not shy, she was loud. And furious. And down for a fight.

Adam's arrived to the party first. He came away from my neck, threw out one arm to grab the headboard. I watched as he let out a breathy, beatific moan that gradually turned into a tight-jawed roar. His whole body twitched with staccato thrusts into my ass, not really letting up but rather changing the pattern.

"Oh. Ohhhh. Fuuuuck, agh, fuuuuck!"

The wildness in his eyes really did me in. Not one to be outdone, I dug the nails of my now freed hands into his shoulder and screamed. My pussy and ass slammed rhythmically shut, as though trying to expel his cock. It caused just the slightest, and sweetest, bit of pain. My abs ached from the exertion.

I looked up, and saw Adam staring back at me with dumbstruck wonderment as I wrung the life out of his erection, savoring every last spasm of pleasure.

"Get down here, idiot," I said, and pulled him into the kiss.

...

"So, that was really something," I said in the darkened room. It had taken a good minute or two for the aftershocks of my orgasm to cease.

I was lying very flat and still on top of the bedsheets, and Adam was next to me, also lying very flat and still.

"Yeah. It was."

"And the fucked thing is, I think I could go another round."

"Hmm." Adam scratched at his chin. "I could go again, if you give me half an hour, some tea, and a gatorade. Or, you know, we could go again in the morning. It is 3AM, after all."

"Shit, really? Let's sleep then, this ain't our twenties anymore." I yawned. "Can Missy come in?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just let me toss you your underwear first. She has an unfortunate tendency to want to sniff buttholes, and yours..."

"I know, I've got total snail butt. Lemme clean up a little."

...

I awakened in the morning to bright light streaming into the modest bedroom, and a delightful little black and tan ball of dog, who had nested on the divot where the covers draped between my knees. I told myself, not for the first time, that I had to find myself a new place, where the HOA would let me get a dog.

The next thing I noticed was the smell of eggs and bread, and coffee, which was odd since Adam didn't drink any. Then I realized there was a platter already sitting by the bedside. On it was a BEC sandwich on the most amazing looking bagel, and a steaming cup of Dunkin Donuts. I sat up, and started eating. It was delicious and it took me right back to my school years in New York.

"I thought you'd like it." Adam was standing in the doorway in gray sweats and a plain black T. A big dumb grin plastered his face.

"Is this a fucking New York bagel?" I was gesticulating with the sandwich in hand.

"Better. They're shipped frozen from Montreal. I'm piloting this as a breakfast item at Dead Joara, either with cream cheese or as a breakfast sandwich with vegetarian bacon. You can't get these bagels anywhere in the Carolinas."

I scratched my head. "I don't know, dude. This feels suspiciously like a plot to seduce me."

He just laughed, and said, "With all due respect, six hours ago you asked me, you begged me to fuck you in the ass. And that was with no bagel."

"I think... you loved my butt so much that you want me to stay in your bed forever. As your sex slave."

"Perhaps. But don't kid yourself, you'd stay for the dog."

I nodded vigorously as I picked up the coffee. "I would. I'd also steal that dog, so, watch out. But seriously, thank you so much for breakfast."

"You're entirely welcome," he said, bowing slightly. "But it's only right. It'd be un-southern of me to cum in somebody's mouth and then not feed them in the morning." Coming over to sit on the bed beside me, he put an arm over my shoulder. "What's on your mind?"

"I was thinking that, if this were an overture to me to start a relationship, I would be sorely tempted. I like you. You're handsome, great in bed, and if it weren't for all the bullshit we probably would've been friends all along, because we're art nerds that hate small and stupid minds. Alas, Atlanta is a long ways from here. And I don't want a relationship. Been much happier single."

"Well you're in luck," he said. "Cause I don't want that shit either. I get it. I'm too slutty to settle down with one man or one woman. Or even one man and one woman... though that's tempting, not having to pick teams."

"Right?"

"Lemme tell you what I think. First, though, I'll tell you the real reason why I pulled out the stops for breakfast. I've always thought you were a terrific girl, and I've always kicked myself for letting that damn poem get stolen. So last night, when you came home with me--even just to talk--it felt like a second chance to do right by you. I burned a lot of bridges in my twenties I can never rebuild. So I know. Ass is nice, but second chances are priceless."

I reached out and put my arm around him too. The man looked about to cry.

"I know what you mean, Adam. Seeing you on your feet, hearing you speak well of me, the chance to get to know you again--all of that is healing."

"So here's my fuckin crazy suggestion," said Adam. "Let's be friends. The next time you wanna talk to someone about the local music scene, you call me. And the next time I need makeup or fashion advice, or just want to shoot the shit with someone from back home, I'll call you. And, if you're ever back in town and feel like going out, maybe getting laid? Call me. I'll do the same if I'm ever out your way."

I pulled Adam closer, and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you, you're right. I will."

...

We fucked again before I got showered up and had him take me back to where my bike was. Once could have been a fluke. But getting off on anal sex twice? Now I was sold.

After that, I felt pretty fulfilled in the hoeing department for a while. Eventually the urge came back, and by chance, a few months after that night in Morganton, I stumbled onto an invitation to another one of those damn pheromone parties, this time hosted by an acquaintance in Atlanta.

It was a fucking disaster. Only time I've ever walked out in the middle of foreplay to call a Lyft. Don't even want to talk about it.

My friendship with Adam, on the other hand, has been a real success story. We've gone out a couple times, just platonically, and we talk all the time, second only to me and Alex. He and she have also become chummy, after the three of us went to see BTBAM play at The Orange Peel. We have a running gag about having a threesome, and at this point I don't think anyone knows if it's idle trash talk or a very, very slow moving game of Chicken.

Which brings us to the present. My dumb bitch juice filled self tentatively agreed to yet another one of those parties, hosted by none other than Jessa Pickens. I already checked; Alex and Adam are sitting this one out. So why, I wonder, haven't I called it yet?

I guess I keep thinking about recreating the magic of that night. When I know full well, the magic wasn't in the party games, it was in the people there. So, logically, if I'm in the mood for magic, I could cut out the middleman and just call Alex and Adam, have us meet up at her place with a bottle of gin, see where the evening takes us.

So here I stand, a quarter in hand, and I'm gonna flip it. Heads, party with the shirts. Tails, party with my friends. The coin's up, and...

Hmm. Interesting.