General Chemistry II Ch. 04

List of Characters

Jack: Our point of view. Smart, corny, neurotic, Jack has few friends at school outside of his study group. White. Lifeguards in the summer and has a big dick.

Pri: Jack's ex(?). Brilliant and reserved, she plays varsity soccer with her best friend Liv. Indian-American. Short and athletic with ass for days, darkly tanned with thick black hair.

Liv: Pri's best friend and Jack's study buddy. Funny and dynamic, she plays varsity soccer and does what she feels. Jewish. Tall with a heart-shaped face. She has a deep tan, small breasts, and sprinter's legs.

Marco: Liv's boyfriend and long-time friend. Charming and almost offensively handsome, he teaches tennis and studies literature. Colombian-American. He's fashionable, with a lean, muscular body.

Sylvie: Liv's long-time frenemy and Marco's ex. Grim and sarcastic, she's pre-law at NYU. Pale, Jewish, and tiny, with a cute face and a bull ring septum piercing.

Kay: Sylvie's friend from NYU. Laconic and up for anything, they study film and play volleyball. White and non-binary, they're over six foot and covered with tattoos. Bleached pixie cut and dark eyelids.

Grace: Liv's friend from college. Perky and energetic, she's All-State softball and loves to party. Chinese-American. She's muscular but feminine, with thick legs, big breasts, and fun tattoos.

~

I jerked awake to the reverbed amps of prog rock sliding thin and tinny from the speaker of my phone. Head throbbing, mouth dry, I cursed my stupid self for such a stupid alarm. I fumbled until I snoozed it, or turned it off, or factory reset the fucking thing.

God, I was hungover.

God, I was starting to hate drinking.

I sat up creakily and stared at the wall. After a while I realized I was looking at a painting. It was clearly supposed to be capital-A Art. To me it was just a drab rural scene with little gray clouds and little gray sheep on a little gray hill. The blinds were shut, thank god, but the darkness gave the painting an eerie, apocalyptic feel.

On my nightstand I found evidence that Pri had been here: two painkillers, a glass of water, and a banana. I chewed the fruit into paste and shoved the pills in.

The more I tried the less I remembered of last night. It was only by giving up and letting myself think of nothing that the memories appeared out of the fog. Memories of drinking, of flirting, of measuring my dick. Of jerking off. Jesus, had I really done that? The shame was there, and the embarrassment too, but they'd been dulled along with everything else.

After the... incident, no one had even mentioned the fucked-up-edness. Some of them actually kept drinking. I remembered gliding past them in the kitchen, ripping apart three servings of garlic bread, and going to bed before anyone else had even left the table. Did I throw up? If I didn't I should have.

I'd thought I could make some normal friends for once. I liked these people. How the hell could I face them now? I ran a hand through my hair and pulled at the roots. What a fucking mess.

My stomach flopped, empty and greasy at the same time. I needed water. I needed coffee. I sorted roughly through my suitcase until I found a tank top and my sunglasses and I crept out the door. The basement hallway was filled with light from a nearby window. I almost hissed. Like a vampire, every cell in my body screamed and vibrated. Muffled conversation came from somewhere above me.

At the bottom of the stairs the voices started to resemble language. It was the girls, all the girls and Kay at least, chatting away like everything was fine and dandy and great.

"You know how when somebody is too hot and it's kinda like they're another species?" It sounded like Grace. "Like, 'I can't mate with you, we'll make a zorse.'"

"I do not know that," said a low, raspy voice that was definitely Sylvie. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so hot it turned me off."

"You have to say that," said Liv. Her throat was scratchy and raw too, like she'd been up all night shouting. "You can't be like, 'Yeah, Marco looks fucking weird, that's why I dated him.'"

"Nuh," said Kay in their monotone. "Some of the models we get for shoots look like fish-people, or aliens. And that's coming from me, a big, weird looking bitch."

"You're not weird looking..."

"Notice she didn't correct the bitch part."

"So you think Marco looks like an alien?" asked Pri. She sounded... fine. Good even. Not stressed, not even hungover. It sounded like everyone was up there but Marco. If they were at all anxious or concerned about last night, they weren't showing it.

"What?" Kay again. "Nah, Marco is fuckin' hot. I'm just saying that's true sometimes."

"I just think Jack is more approachably cute," said Grace. "Like, I wouldn't feel stupid asking him out." There was a long silence. "If there wasn't the whole thing between you two, I mean. Obviously."

I'd frozen, one foot on the lowest step. At the top, the door to the kitchen hung open a good six inches, a stripe of brilliant sunlight painted against the wall. Even though I knew it was wrong, I sat down to listen.

"He does have a nice body," said Liv. "Not as good as Marco obviously, but nice. And he's got those fucking shovels for hands. Mmm. Love big hands on a guy. Just scoop me up."

"He's got swimmer's back. Or whatever these things are up here."

"Lats? They're like... armpit abs. Makes 'em look fucking hench."

"Or forearms. Anyone else have a thing for thick forearms?"

"Ya, I'm sure it's his thick forearms that you like..."

Pri laughed awkwardly. "I liked him before all that, but I didn't mind his big... penis."

"I love how you say 'penis' and never, like, dick... or cock. You're so fucking cute."

"Fine," she said dryly. "His big swinging cock. His girthy manhood or whatever."

"Since we went there..." said Sylvie. Liv scoffed audibly. "Jack is the only one who's 'like another species.' Forget the friggin' biomass, I've never seen someone cum that much. Like even in porn."

"That was fuckin' crazy." Kay again. "It was like—you ever pour out too much detergent on accident?"

"Oh yeah, it was definitely a full load." That set off a round of laughter.

"I'm glad you were able to work it out," said Grace. "You make a really sweet couple."

"That's not..." started Pri. "We're not, like, together."

"Uh, you could have fooled me," said Sylvie. "What was last night then?"

"Last night was just for fun," said Liv neatly. "Don't read too much into it."

"That true?" pressed Sylvie. "Or do you just need it to be true?"

Liv laughed sharply. "You're acting like you didn't fucking participate."

"I didn't do anything."

"You sure as hell didn't leave, Syl."

"I'm supposed to go hide in my room? With all the huffing and grunting coming through the wall? Gag me."

Grace laughed nervously. "I mean, I was really drunk. I don't even really remember what happened..."

"You're full of shit too," said Liv.

"I remember some stuff obviously—"

"You remember beating up your pussy with Jacky's dick swinging two feet from your face?"

"Ew, the fucking unnecessary imagery!" said Sylvie. I pictured her face crunching up in disgust. "Ugh. And besides, Pri was closest to that exhibit. Which is kinda my point. I—personally, no judgment—I don't suck people's dicks if I'm not interested in them."

"Don't you though?" said Liv. Something non-verbal must be passing between them, a mutual stabbing of voodoo dolls.

Pri cut in quickly. "Sex was never our issue—"

"Clearly..." someone mumbled.

"If anything, it covered for the other stuff."

"Oh," said Grace. "Okay. I hope things work out. I mean, or not. Or whatever. I don't care. It doesn't matter. Somebody save me."

"Is everything okay?" asked Liv. "Do you need us to do anything?"

Pri sighed. "Stop with the pity stuff—"

"I'm not—"

"You are. She is. Or you're doing the matchmaker thing which is even worse. I'm tired. I'm tired of thinking about Jack and the future and life and everything. I'm tired of playing defense. Can we act like my stuff is normal for like five minutes? Can I just have a vacation for once?"

"Okay, yeah, but... I'm legit confused how I can support you here. Don't bring up Jack, and don't not bring up Jack?"

"Stop talking about it! Stop giving me looks, stop poking at him. We broke up. We'll make up or we won't but we're not going to figure that out today. Pretend we're nothing. Pretend we're two random people on this trip together. I'm just here to make some nice memories. I just want to look back on this vacation without it having been a total nightmare. I don't—" Pri blew out a frustrated breath. "I truly don't know how to make this any effing clearer."

The silence stretched on, then Grace's laugh broke it like a boot cracking ice. "I'm sorry. Wait, really, I hear you and I didn't mean to laugh. But 'effing' is just so funny."

A few huffs followed, then another genuine laugh.

"Well eff me in the ass," said Liv.

"Eff me hard, daddy."

"Okay," said Pri with a little smile in her voice. "Yeah, I know."

"Pri's on, like, Taylor Swift levels of not-cursing. When Pri says 'fuck' you're like, googling the lyrics to make sure you heard right."

"Ess my dee, em-effers!"

"La-mao."

"Are you making more coffee? Can you...?"

"Yeah, I got you dude."

"Well there's something else we need to talk about," said Sylvie.

"There's an ice cream place by the water we can try—"

"No more gelato, please..."

"No, not that. I mean that."

Another gesture I couldn't see, or a pointed look, because a few of them started talking at once, the words piling up so I couldn't follow the thread.

"Kay," said Liv above the din. "You didn't mind, right?"

"I was thinking more about your boyfriend," said Sylvie.

"He didn't mind either." After a pause, Liv continued: "We're not actually... You know we fuck other people, right?"

"What the fuck? You—Why doesn't Pri look surprised? You knew about this?"

"She knows."

"Who?"

"Who do we fuck?" Liv laughed. "I'm not like—I can't say that."

"You gotta be kidding me," said Grace. "You're gonna drop that little tidbit and walk away?"

"So you swing?" asked Kay.

"Uh, not really," said Liv. "Swinging is, like, old people putting keys in a bowl and shit, right? We have regular partners. I'm not a slut," she added quickly. "Or just fucking randos."

"Then you're what?" asked Sylvie flatly. "Polyamorous? You and Marco are poly?"

"I don't know what that means but we know some people that are more than friends."

"You fucking—You know what polyamorous means, my god."

"Whatever you say. It works for us. And hey, to be clear, I do like you, but I'm not trying to—I don't want to make it weird."

"Thanks," said Kay. "Is this you flirting?"

"No good? How about: 'What's a shredded genderqueer Amazon like you doing in a place like this?' You like that better?"

"Way better."

Grace Oooh'ed like she was hearing about a playground crush. "This is so gay and I'm here for it."

"Fuck's wrong with you?" asked Kay.

"Nothing," said Sylvie unconvincingly. "I just didn't think you... would be interested in that."

"Interested...? I fuck friends sometimes. Safer than the apps."

"You have sex with C-Bo. That's not 'friends.'"

"You don't know every part of my life, Syl."

Liv made a concerned noise. "If it makes you uncomfortable then—"

"No," said Sylvie. "I'm not—Whatever. I don't care. I was just surprised is all. Forget about it."

"We still talking about dicks or nah?" asked Grace after a fraught moment. They laughed, some more nervously than others. "Like big ol' schlong-a-dongs. I'll admit it, I'm jealous. Of who I won't say."

"No kidding," said Liv.

"Well, help me out. Do you have big dick radar or what? How do you know? Or do you know?"

"You literally don't know..."

"Size doesn't matter," said Sylvie. The chum had been thrown to the sharks. Everyone went off.

"Here we go."

"But she's right."

"Nobody really thinks that."

"Sometimes though..."

"Size doesn't matter," said Liv. "In the sense of like, I've had great sex with a small dick and I've had bad sex with a big dick. But a guy with a big dick who knows how to use it? Whew..."

"Het women are brainwashed," said Kay. "No dick required for a great fuck."

"Sorry, queer queen. I am a slave to my biology."

"Man bad," grunted Grace like a neanderthal. "But man have penis and me need penis."

"But there's 'Marco big' and then there's 'Jack big,'" said Sylvie. "I can talk about that right? Like, I'm sorry, how does one fit that inside? My uterus is cringing just thinking about it..."

"Would you believe yoga?" said Pri. The joke fell flat. "And, well..."

"Say it," said Liv. "You can say it."

"I'm not embarrassed to have a big vagina."

"Oh my god," said Grace. "Me too! Big vagina sisters. I'm not kidding. My gyno has to use the looong speculum. She said I have the vaginal depth of a WNBA player."

"That's... so wildly unprofessional," said Sylvie.

"I'm Chinese, dude. My gyno is my cousin. Dr. Guo is not accepting new patients but I have a brain surgeon and a GP too if you need."

Pri laughed. "If my sister became a gynecologist, tati would have a heart attack."

"Better than a urologist," said Liv. "Astha just handling thirty dicks a day, can you imagine?"

"I really can't." Silverware clinked. "Anybody want some?"

"Yeah, right here," said Kay. "Is there any...? No, I got it."

"I could never..." said Sylvie. "It's just too big."

"Are you still on about that? I thought Grace was the fucking size queen. You're obsessed."

"No, c'mon. It's like a freaking arm down there. I'm just—Marco tried to put an extra finger inside one time but I just—"

"What's your fucking problem?" asked Liv. "Why is every story you tell about Marco? I like you a lot but you're really up in my shit this week. What? I don't care, I'm just saying. It makes her sound like she's still hung up on him. They broke up two fucking years ago."

"Relax," said Pri.

"I'm relaxed. Why am I getting the talking-to? I've been cool about it. I can't be the only one who noticed."

"She does talk about him a lot."

"Fine," said Pri. "Whatever. Sylvie, can you just leave Marco out of it for a bit. We don't mind hearing about boys, just not him." Another pause. "What'd I say? Kay?"

"Not me."

Silence followed, lingering.

"I take a lot of credits, okay?" Sylvie, for once, sounded as small as she actually was. "I don't have time. So what?"

"What, like...?"

"Bullshit," said Liv. "You expect me to believe you haven't fucked anyone since then?" No reply came. "Don't even. You have to be fucking kidding me."

"Regulate your fucking tone, Liv." It was a voice so stern I almost didn't place that it had been Kay. "Don't talk to her like that."

"She talks to me like that! Okay, Jesus, I'm sorry. How was I supposed to know?"

"Well maybe if you all talked more."

"Are we really hashing this out now...?"

"God," said Pri. "We are failing the Bechdel test so hard right now."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Liv. "What was I thinking? Where's my copy of—of The Feminine Mystique? You wanna talk Audre Lorde?"

"Who?" asked Kay.

"Read a fucking book." A painful pause. "Oh fuck, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. Sylvie, I'm sorry. I didn't know. That's just dropping a lot on me."

"Maybe we can transplant some of my ho tendencies," said Grace. "Give Sylvie half and we'll both get laid the normal amount." There were a few chuckles, then outright laughs, the tension breaking, louder and louder, until everyone was howling and coughing and slapping the table.

"Ho tendencies, oh my god..."

"I gotta change the chat name."

"There's no such thing as poly. Queer, bi, nothing. It's all just ho tendencies."

"LGHT. Lesbian, gay, ho tendencies." The laughter redoubled, echoing down the stairs. They made ten variations of the "ho tendencies" joke, enjoying themselves a little more each time. I had to cover my mouth so they wouldn't hear me laughing back.

"Can I ask...?" said Grace afterwards. "Oh god, nevermind."

"What?" asked Liv. "Go ahead."

"Uhm, do you always squirt?"

"Oh, wow. I thought you had a serious question. Uh, well... I've always gotten really wet, but it wasn't until I started watching porn when I realized what was happening. And it depends on the situation. Like, I need to let it happen. Unless I'm having a massive orgasm, then it's happening no matter what." She laughed. "It's seriously annoying. We go through towels like crazy."

"So you didn't have to last night?"

"Oh, I wanted to. Felt right."

"Don't get me wrong, it was hot. Last night was just really hot in general. I've never... done anything like that before."

"Someone suddenly regained their memory..."

"Fuck off, lol."

"Oh, when Pri started sucking his dick..."

"I know. I came, like, immediately."

"I'd pay," said Kay. "To watch more of that."

"Okay," said Pri with a nervous laugh. "I'll take it under advisement."

"Not that we're talking about that," said Liv. "That's on the banned topics list. Big Brother is watching."

"Maybe Pri can fuck Marco instead," said Sylvie airily. She threw it out like a joke but even from a distance, I could hear the hard edge behind it. "Since she's all poly now."

The kitchen went quiet. Without being up there, without seeing their faces, I couldn't begin to understand the vibe.

"Where is Marco anyway?" asked Grace. "I'm soo hungry..."

"Let me text him," said Liv, unaffected. "Someone should have gone with him. He's probably pulling two carts tied together with sausages." A fork clinked. "Ah, he messaged already. On his way."

"What about Jack?"

"Let me get him," said Pri. A chair scraped. "He's the worst drinker of all time. Metabolism of a baby."

It took me a full second to remember that Jack was, in fact, me. I stood and grimaced, my back stiff from the steps. Limping down the hall, I held my erection, the erection I hadn't realized I had, to keep it from bouncing around in my shorts.

Do I go to my room? Pretend to be asleep? I shouldn't have been listening but did I really need to be scared of getting caught? I'd heard some freakier shit last night—But they'd said that stuff to me, on purpose. We'd watched each other masturbating. I could run the shower real and just hide until she leaves.

Fuck, what kind of Tom-and-Jerry shit was I thinking? I was too hungover for this. I shut myself in the hallway bathroom, opened the tap, and sat on the edge of the toilet, knees bouncing out of rhythm. I couldn't really think, I couldn't process what I'd heard. A bunch of disgustingly erotic talk, a lot of flirting. Kay wanted to watch us fuck. But Pri, what had Pri said?

Don't ruin the vacation. Don't poke him. Don't matchmake. Don't pity.

We broke up.

Did we? Could I really say she was wrong about that?

The doorknob turned, the latch clicked, and Pri's dark face appeared in the crack of the door.

I started. "Jesus," I said. "Hi. I'm—"

I'm what? Hiding in the bathroom?

"Sorry," she said, her mouth set in a line. "I didn't know if you were awake and I just—sorry." The door closed a few inches until I could barely see a sliver of her. "We're having a barbecue. So, you want to get ready or whatever? We're gonna start prepping soon."

"Yeah. Alright." I felt my pulse throbbing in my neck. She made no comment of the fact I was sitting fully clothed on the john. "I'll be right up."

I saw the sliver nod and, after a moment, the door softly closed. I sighed, practically melting against the toilet.

A few seconds later the latch clicked and the crack reopened. Pri again, as serious as ever.

"Everything okay?" I asked. I scratched the back of my neck with both hands, all my nerves firing.

Without a word she slipped in, shutting the door behind her. She was wearing her sister's UNC Wilmington hoodie, a few sizes too big. It draped low over bright orange sweats, a pair of long black socks sticking out the bottom. It was the dorkiest, dressed-down-athlete outfit ever.

"What's going on?"

"Just wanted... I don't know. I don't know where we are with everything. It's frustrating. And sad. And embarrassing."

"You don't need to be embarrassed," I said, feeling embarrassed as hell. Neither of us commented on my prominent erection. "I mean, not because of our stuff. Not because of the break up."

"Mhm." She closed her eyes and sighed. I hadn't said "break up" before, and I was only repeating what I shouldn't have heard her say. "What about last night?"

"I don't know. I can't really explain it."

She nodded slowly. "I've just been so..." She mouthed a word, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. Horny. "It's like, in the air. Can we...? If you want?"

"Can we what...?"

"Like, uh, you know..."

Pri turned to face the door. Hooking her thumbs into her waistband, she slipped her sweatpants off the shelf of her wide brown ass, down her hard hamstrings, until they were stretched between her knees. Between her thick cheeks, her hairy pussy glistened. With one hand planted on the door, she forced a henna-tattoed finger through her lips, gliding across the shiny, red bud of her clit. She was swollen. She was fucking soaked.

"Please," she said. "But you have to be fast. And don't cum inside."

My cock, sticking up in my shorts like a tent pole, flexed and strained. A precum stain a full inch across had spread from the tip. Pri's breath caught, knees giving out for a half-second as she fingered herself. I groped my shaft through the fabric and groaned.

She looked over her shoulder, mouth hanging open. "C'mon, or they'll know something's up."

I stood, dropping my sticky shorts and kicking them against the wall. Pri was six inches shorter at least, and she popped on up her tiptoes, calves clenching. The pebbled tile was cold on the soles of my feet as I laid the burning weight of my cock on her tailbone.

Her ass was massive, flaring from her waist, firm and round from a thousand sprints and lunges and squats. I gripped tightly, a single cheek dwarfing my hand. I shook it, the thickness wobbling from side to side, my drooling cockslit leaving a trail of precum across her skin.

"Stop playing around," she said, rising on her toes again. "Just do it."

I didn't need to tease her. I didn't even need lube. I pushed my swollen head inside with just a little pressure, skin gliding audibly against skin.

"Oh fuck," I moaned. I rolled my hips, slipping in further. "You're so fucking wet Pri."

"Shh..." She dropped her head. "Shit. You have to... you have to hurry up..."

I gathered up a fistful of her hoodie, twisting the thick fabric into a handle, and pulled myself deeper. More of my long cock disappeared, the fat, hairy vee of her lips stretching around my shaft. I held on to the sweatshirt like a bull rider, forcing my cock further and further until I was pounding her against the door. There was no need for foreplay, to ease her open. Pri's thighs were shiny with the juices she'd leaked before she'd ever entered the room. On the deepest stroke, my hips finally connected with her ass. She stiffened and let out a ragged breath.

One of her hands dropped from the door, and I felt her pressing down on her rock-hard clit. The nub flexed and danced as I fucked her, wetly plap-plap-plapping. For a while I just used her, pulling her onto me until our cum mixed together in little streaks of white foam. I scooped some up with my finger and rubbed it against her asshole. She gasped, head dropping against the door with a hollow thunk. Forehead pressing against the wood, she began to squeeze on me in long pulses, butthole winking.

"Are you cumming, Pri? As soon as I touch your ass, you start cumming?"

"Keep going," she panted. "I can—uhnn—I can cum again..."

I slammed into her, smashing her against the door. One of her socks slipped on the tile. She would have fallen if I wasn't already holding her up by the fuck-handle of her hoodie, my other hand quickly catching her around the hip. The second she regained her footing, I slipped into full-length cock strokes, pummeling her dripping cunt as she mashed her clit.

I fucked her like it was our last ten seconds on earth. It was so fucking hot inside her. Feverish, burning. Before I even felt it in her pussy, I heard her breath catch.

"Ughhhnn," came the ragged noise from her mouth. "Cummmm..." Her pelvic floor massaged my cock in waves, her fat ass wobbling on shaky legs.

"That's good, baby," I said through my teeth. "Cum for me."

She held on for an electric moment, ass rocking up and down, before finally dropping out. She dismounted to an unsteady squat, then fell forward onto her knees, her face and both hands pressed against the door for balance. Her ankles were still tied together by her orange sweats. I stood over her, balls high, ready to cum, my hard cock waving from side to side, slick and creamy white. I felt good. I felt like the Greek god of sex, fucking the nous out of the mortal brought before me as sacrifice.

Pri slumped against the door, shoulders rising and falling, her glazed pussy cooling in the air. After a minute, she made a controlled fall sideways, rolling on to her naked hip, fumbling at the elastic of her sweatpants with a dazed look. That's when she looked up and saw me, my cock glistening and still disgustingly hard.

"I didn't finish," I said simply. I'd put a hand out on the sink for my own balance. The tap was still running. She gave me a look that was weary and hungry. I laughed stupidly.

"Lie down," she said. I looked at the cold tile, hesitating. "Lie down and I'll take care of you."

Using my shorts as protection for my bare ass, I laid down on the floor. Rather than pulling up her sweats, Pri had stepped out them entirely. The second I was settled she was already crawling on top of me. Without aiming, like she knew the connection too well to miss, she sunk down on my cock, tapping a different deep corner of her pussy. I groaned. Her eyes rolled back.

"Oh god," she moaned. "It's deep." Leaning over me, her hood had flopped up, covering the back of her head. Her wild, black curls framed her blushing face. "My legs are... kinda shot. Can you...?"

Taking two fat handfuls of her ass, planting my heels in the ground, I started slow but quickly picked up speed until I was fucking her in long, cum-lubricated strokes. My glutes left the ground on each pump, the kind of deep dicking that would hurt most women. Pri took it well, her body bouncing up with each smack of my hips, watching me through hooded eyes. My breathing went shallow, my grip on her wide waist like a vice as I thrust up into her perfect ass.

"Da-ah-ah-mn," she said, voice knocked around by my rutting cock. "You wanna cum bad."

"You like... my cock?"

She smiled. "Your long, thick cock?" We fell easily back into our dirty talk, as filthy as I'd ever convinced her to go. "Your big pussy-stretching—Shit."

"Fuck yeah."

"Your too-big-cock? Do I need to call Liv to help me? I can't keep up with your big dick, so I need her to take a turn." Our thighs smacked wetly together, my balls drawing up tight. "I might need to rest my pussy while you do her, but you can only cum inside me. If she wants, she can drink it out of my—"

"Fuck. I'm gonna cum," I said, body clenching. "I'm gonna fucking cum..."

"Not inside," she panted. "Not—Damn it."

Pri dismounted fast, flinging a leg over and rolling onto a bare brown thigh. Without a wasted motion she caught my thrusts with her little hands, squeezing and pumping hard. Her fingertips couldn't meet around the thickness of my shaft as she two-hand stroked me, up and down like a potter at the wheel.

"Do it, do it, do it..." she said. "Do it. Shoot it for me."

"Oh god..." I said, cumming. Seeing spots, I spurted a high arcing rope of cum that she aimed towards the door. Biting her lip, Pri beat my dick for several creamy ribbons, each spattering on the tile, each a little closer than the last, the final two landing messily on my legs. When I was down to pulsing cum from my slit, she twisted and squeezed my shaft, milking me down her knuckles in little rivers until my crotch was completely covered in cum.

I realized I was still gripping the sleeve of her hoodie, my fingers aching. She lowered my still spasming cock against my t-shirt, wiping her hands on the hem, and sat for a moment, looking content but distant. Blinking, she realized that she was supposed to be somewhere.

With a huff, Pri lifted herself to her knees and bent to grab her clothes. She turned her sweats over in her hands, making sure I hadn't shot anything on them, before slipping into them shakily. In a daze, I watched her step over me like a log in the forest and rinse her hands under the running water.

"They're probably wondering where I am," she said. "But thanks for that. I needed it."

I should have said something smooth, something romantic. I felt it on the tip of my tongue but, with a flush in my cheeks, I said: "Are you making some nice memories?"

Eventually she looked at me. "You shouldn't eavesdrop. That's beneath you." Then she grimaced, lifting one foot daintily. "Ew, I stepped in it."

She peeled off both socks, shoved them in her hoodie pocket, and slipped out just as quickly as she'd entered.

~

It took an embarrassingly long time for me to recover from my encounter with Pri. When I finally managed to dress myself and crawl up the stairs, the others were already drinking out on the terrace.

Chef Marco found me quickly. Since everyone else had already helped I was confined to the kitchen until I'd finished my portion of the prep work. I stood at the island in my flip flops, robotically slicing fruit that would eventually become sangria. Pop music blasted from the living room, loud enough to make it through the glass slider and out to the patio, and damn sure loud enough to drown out any thoughts in my hungover brain.

By some natural agreement Grace had become Marco's permanent sous chef, and the two of them made regular trips back and forth, migrating the prepped food from the kitchen to the table or the grill. They were busy bees, laughing but moving with purpose, barely acknowledging me as they went.

The New Yorkers were sitting outside at the trellis table, the surface covered with plates, cups, and serving bowls. Kay sat on the end of one bench, hands planted between their legs, bracing athletically on their long, wiry arms. Sylvie saw me through the glass's reflection and, without a hitch in the conversation, raised her cup like That's what you get for sleeping in, dumbass.

At the far end of the terrace, Pri leaned against the railing, taking photos of the ocean. She tapped out a message or three, probably to family back home. The next time I looked up from my fruit massacre, Grace was standing with her, both girls laughing. For a while, too long, I watched them talking and making nice with each other.

I hadn't thought that Pri liked her very much. Although Grace had turned out to be much more subdued than I remembered, probably because I wasn't experiencing her party-drunk like I always did at school, she always seemed to push Pri's buttons for some reason. Not today. Even when facing away from me, their body language was light and even friendly.

I graduated from bananas to oranges to strawberries, working my way up the difficulty ladder. My confidence in my knife skills rose steadily, right until I bopped too hard to some BTS and narrowly missed cutting off the tip of my thumb. I slowed considerably after that.

When Grace re-entered for the twentieth time I was fighting with a mango who, despite being unarmed, was giving it to me good. She slid up beside and leaned on the counter, close enough to watch my struggle but far enough not to be hit by errant juice. She was wearing her glasses today, her black hair held up loosely with clips. Tapping her Birkenstocks together, heel to toe, her thick legs bulged out of a flimsy pair of cloth shorts.

"Can I help you?" I asked after a moment.

"Nah. Just watching you do... whatever it is you're doing."

"Har har." Ragged fruit chunks were scattered around the cutting board and my hands were sticky up to the wrist. "I shouldn't be judged for this. Cutting mango is not in the White People Job Description."

"It's not? What is? Eating mayonnaise from the jar?"

"Or sauerkraut."

She smiled and leaned away. "Talking back to your mother."

"Listening to NPR. Live." A mango particle ejected onto my shirt. "Fuck."

"Saying 'I'm gonna butcher this' before pronouncing any non-white name."

"Or, whenever somebody asks who's sitting here, saying 'You are!'"

"Crashing the economy."

"Ok, now it's getting mean."

She shrugged and nodded at my mess. "Where's your cup? Are you drinking?"

I let my juicy hands rest on the cutting board. "Once I'm done. I can't touch anything."

"I've got you," she said, disappearing behind me. I heard the fridge and then the cracking of a can.

"What are you doing?"

"Here comes the airplane," she said, flying the beer in over my shoulder. I gamely opened my mouth and she gripped my arm, pouring in a good amount.

"O-gay, o-gay, o-gay," I gargled, elbowing her away, beer dripping down my chin and on to my already fucked shirt. She fell back, her dimples showing as we both laughed.

"Let me know if you want any more—"

"Uh huh—"

"If you're still thirsty—"

"I get it—"

"I can help."

"You're a huge help, believe me."

She leaned back against the counter, almost posing, her head turned to watch the others through the glass. I waited for her to say something. When she turned back, she just smiled, content to quietly stand there.

"I'll be done in a few minutes," I said. "You don't need to wait."

"I don't mind. Most of it's on the grill." She took a sip of the beer she'd opened for me. "Just waiting on you so we can fire up the burgers."

On one hand, I was hungover and an idiot, so I could hardly trust my judgment. On the other, I'd hung out with Grace for the past few days and we'd "seen a lot of each other," so to speak. I thought she might be flirting—

"We should get in that hot tub tonight," she said, looking more at my mouth than my eyes. "It's crazy we haven't already."

Okay, definitely flirting. I wiped my nose in the crook of my elbow to hide my blushing. "It's been too hot. Pool would be better. If we're not too drunk." It was pretty aggressive for her to come directly from Pri to flirting with me where everyone could see. Maybe she was just bored.

"Sounds good." She sipped our beer again and watched me work. After a minute or two, she jiggled the container of sliced fruit. "What's this for, by the way?"

"Sangria."

"Oh," she said. "We're not doing sangria any more." I paused, flicking my eyes towards her. She leaned a little closer, looking concerned for too long until she finally laughed. "Just kidding." She picked out a piece of banana and popped it into her mouth, chewing loudly. "That's plenty. Get cleaned up and I'll put the booze in."

~

"I can't believe you don't remember Rachel Levin," said Liv. "Her dad was a record label guy. She literally had a music video on YouTube."

Sylvie shrugged. "I skipped the year after 7th so I don't remember it like you do."

"But Rachel was there for like five years straight. You definitely know her."

"Okay."

Liv rolled her eyes and took up her glass, as much to drink as to give her fluttery hand something to do.

"What?" asked Sylvie. Even though I hadn't spoken, she looked at me as if I was her backup. "I can't remember every fucking kid at Jew camp. It was like ten years ago."

We sat at the trellis table, everyone but Marco and Grace crowded on the long, wooden benches. The table could comfortably seat four; seven was going to be a stretch. The music floating out from the house had changed over to some funky, bassy rock, the lyrics in Japanese. It was hot, the sun filtering around innocent clouds in a powder-blue sky. Paleozoic ferns draped over us from nearby pots.

"What about Brett?" asked Sylvie. "His dad was a cantor. A little taller, with a scar on his forehead."

"Like Harry Potter, or like gross?"

"Harry Potter."

"Yeah, maybe. But I wasn't really friends with boys then. Was he the one who peed his pants at the bonfire?"

"I don't remember anyone peeing their pants."

"Oh. Well, he did."

"Okay."

Liv looked back into her cup while Sylvie picked at a fraying napkin. They had no real interest in the conversation and I could barely follow it. At the other end of the table, Pri and Kay were speaking, low and serious.

"I wouldn't have expected that at NYU," said Pri. "My picture of New York City is very inclusive."

"It is until it isn't," said Kay. "My coach said he could bring it to the, uh, ombamen—"

"The ombudsman?"

"Yeah. And the AD. He said it was total bullshit and he'd send that up the chain. Like he was sure the main bitch would get kicked from the team and her friends might be too, or at least they'd get suspended. But I just didn't want to be the center of that shit, you know?"

"No, I get that. But that's so shitty. Why do you have to give up volleyball because of some transphobic assholes?"

"You been on Twitter? This is the kinda shit that TERFs pick up and then I'm getting fucking deadnamed with twenty-thousand likes. I'm not proud of it. I don't give up on shit, but I've got enough to deal with."

"But if you're on the women's team and you are in fact—"

"Costillas," said Marco, dropping a plate of sizzling meat on the table. "Burgers? Burgers? One, two, three... No burger, Pri?"

"Veggie burger?"

"You know I got you. Vegan cheese too."

"You're kidding. Two if you have it. No bun."

"Hell yeah," he grinned. "Three beef with cheese and two veggie with veggie!"

"Yes chef!" yelled Grace, poking at the grill. She danced as she flipped meat, clomping her Birks to the rhythm, her muscled butt popping from side to side. In the daylight, her panty line was visible from twenty feet away. It was a nice view.

A puff of vapor, smelling hotly of weed, billowed over the table. I caught the tail end of Sylvie passing Liv her pen. Feeling it up and down until she found the button, she raised it to her lips and paused.

"Marco, you don't care if I get high right?"

Marco looked up, distracted. "Uh, it's fine. She finally sharing?"

"Are you sharing?"

"Fine," sighed Sylvie dramatically. "I have plenty."

"It's not—"

"You just hold this down."

Sylvie reached across the table, activating the vape while Liv hunched forward and sucked. I actually didn't know if she was much of a smoker but the scene playing out, Liv looking cross-eyed at the pen, inhaling and coughing roughly, waving her hands, told me she wasn't.

When Sylvie offered me the vape, I wanted to say no. I'd had a beer already and was nursing my sangria. I usually smoked too much when I drank, which either led to "time-traveling," or just getting too high and spiraling.

That said, I was on vacation. I ripped off the pen like I knew what I was doing and passed along.

"Is it hard to get weed at State?" asked Kay as they took a hit. "It's illegal, right?"

"It's definitely not hard," said Grace, hovering nearby. She danced absently, eating a charred pepper off a fork. "But it's different. When I was in New York it felt like everyone was smoking all the time. At home there's, like, 'pot people' and then there's normies."

Trying not to be obvious, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Pri accepted the vape. She'd only gotten high a couple of times and had always said she didn't like it. At least, that's how I remembered from when we left off before the summer. Looking a little unsure of herself, she managed a decent hit all the same.

Grace pulled like a pro, holding in the vapor as she walked back to the grill. She soon returned with the chef, heavy plates in hand. Marco narrated as they lowered them to the table with a ceramic thunk.

"Charred peps, burgers—those are the veggie, Pri—chicken wings, and mushroom kebabs." As we oohed and aahed over the spread, Marco hit the vape too. As he batted at the cloud hanging in front of him, he grunted. "Well, dig in kids. I'll get a chair."

"It's okay," said Grace. "We can definitely fit." Maybe the weed was hitting fast, but I almost didn't react as she slid down the bench and bumped my hip with hers. "Git. Scooch."

If I'd been in charge of fitting four asses across a two ass bench, I probably wouldn't have picked Grace's thickness to be part of the team. I made it work, mostly, giving Sylvie some room at the edge and living with Grace's elbow in my ribs.

Forks scraped. Plates were filled and then emptied. Though the conversation slowed for a few minutes, it never stopped. Good albums, bad shows, and Spiderman movies. Best Gatorade flavors, and whether the powder was really any different than the bottled stuff. Discussions about nothing.

The weed pen kept moving too, though after the third hit I found the willpower to wave it off. My head felt thick, the warmth of a buzz filling my chest. The circle grew smaller and smaller until it was only Grace leaving the vape by her plate in between hits.

Heat radiated from her bare thigh. I had my arm tucked behind us to make room, and I watched blankly as she, nodding in agreement to some Gatorade wisdom, took a big sip of my sangria. When she caught my eye, she smiled playfully and bumped me with her shoulder. Only when she looked back to her plate did she realize, laughing and cringing, what she'd done.

"Already shared a beer and a vape," she said, the conversation continuing around us like water over a stone. "What's a little sangria between friends?"

Before she could defend, I reached over to her plate and used my pinky to scrape a glob of sauce off a rib.

"Hey, no," she said. "No no!"

I blocked with my shoulder and sucked the sauce off with a smack. "Just a little sauce between friends," I said. "You finished with those peppers?"

Arming herself with a fork, we laughed as I tried to stop her from chopping my burger into little chunks.

Getting high was the right thing. The food was great, a sensory overload that left no room in my mind for anything else, and having a pretty girl on my hip didn't hurt. I looked up once or twice, maybe a bunch of times, to check on Pri. She seemed amused, tapping a spoon on her lip as she followed a Marco rant. As if feeling my attention, she glanced quickly to Grace then to me, giving me a soft-eyed smile before looking away again.

Was that weird? I'd been feeling little sonar waves of jealousy pinging off her all week. Grace seemed immune to them, or she just pretended they weren't happening. Now Pri seemed fine with our friendly flirting.

Any and all changes were ominous. I was a little worried that something was going on that I didn't understand.

"Jack. Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack," said Liv. I tuned back in. "You're like a fourth grader sometimes."

Pri pointed her spoon at me. "He's having some kinda deep thought. It's usually something about capitalism or, like, some stupid science thing we studied weeks ago."

"Oh god. Remember when we were at Zaxby's and he just started lecturing us about chirality with that napkin. Like, I'm trying to eat my tenders dude."

I smiled along, not sure what to say, so I winged it. "I was just thinking that this is the first time I've ever done something like this that was organized by people my own age. Everything else, school trips, vacations, there was always an adult human in charge at the end of the day. Now it's totally up to us, and we can choose to do anything, and we choose to have a barbecue."

"And drink."

"And measure our dicks," said Kay.

Marco's eyes lit up. "I was wondering when someone was going to bring that up. For a minute it was like it never happened."

"Hard to forget," said Grace. She wiggled her fingers at him. "Thanks for the show, Marco."

"You weren't invisible, Gracie," said Liv. "I watched you go back for seconds."

She shrugged. "The only one in denial is Sylvie."

Sylvie made a buzzing noise, like the comment was a bug that should shoo. Grace laughed.

"I have an idea," said Liv. "I know what we should do."

"Stop, don't speak," said Marco. "Everybody guess. I'm gonna say... skinny dipping."

Grace caught on instantly. "Oh, massages. Massage circle."

"Kissing booth," said Kay.

"Too obvious," I said. Liv raised an eyebrow in warning. "Poker, but it mysteriously turns into strip poker halfway through. Like, 'Oops, I'm out of chips, but I have my panties!"

"What do I need strip poker for?" she asked, sickly sweet. "We all know you'll drop your shorts if I just ask."

"You still gotta ask. It's only polite."

"My god," said Sylvie. "Spare me. Please."

"Come on," said Liv. "I was just gonna say Truth or Dare."

"That's a classic," said Marco. "For highschool."

"Don't yuck my yum."

"I could do Truth or Dare," said Kay. There was a general murmur of agreement, as though they were all interested but no one was quite brave enough to say it loud.

"Tonight maybe," said Sylvie. She was sitting on her hip, leaning and looking bored. "It's too early to get hammered like that."

"We could watch a movie," I said. Liv wrinkled her nose. "What? There's a new Mission Impossible."

Two ankles bumped my calf, pinning it between them. "Ah, come on," said Liv, twinkling. "I don't want to wait. You're in, right? Say you're in."

"Oh my god," said Sylvie. "It's you."

"What's me?" I laughed.

"You're the other guy." As though physically repulsed, she spun to her feet away from me. "It's you. You're Liv's... poly boyfriend. What the fuck."

"No, I'm not—That's not me—What are you talking about?" Too late, I realized I wasn't supposed to know about that.

"It's not him," said Liv. "What are you doing?"

"Liv was just playing footsie with him under the table," said Sylvie. "It's—It's him. God, it was so obvious!"

"What the fuck?" said Grace with a laugh.

"You're acting weird as hell, Sylvie."

"Oh, don't try to fucking gaslight me. The flirting between you two, Jesus. And your constant unhinged comments, like 'Ooh, I'd eat him up' and 'Big penises, yum yum yum.' You—" Sylvie shook her head like she'd just been concussed. "I can't believe it. You knew about this."

"No. No. That's not what's going on," said Marco, like his mom had just found his porno mags. He wasn't much of an actor.

"Of course you did. Oh my god, you all know. Marco, Pri, it only works if you all know." She looked frantically between Grace and Kay. "Did you?"

Grace watched apprehensively, playing with the rim of my glass.

"I don't know anything," said Kay. They eyed us with suspicion. "That kinda tracks though."

"Pri, you let this happen? You're breaking up, and what? Liv keeps Jack as a side bitch?" She put her thousand-pound stare back on Marco. "You let me walk into this?"

"Fine. Whatever," said Liv. Pri groaned, touching her forehead with her fingers as Liv barreled ahead. "I fuck Jack. I do. I just don't advertise because it's none of your business."

"No. No fucking way you're turning this around. It's giving incest. It's your best friend's boyfriend. You obviously know how fucked up it is because you were hiding it."

"I wasn't—"

"You obviously fucking were! This is, like, the textbook definition of conspiracy. You've been faking your relationship this entire time. The fucking audacity—"

"I've had sex with Marco," announced Pri tiredly. "A bunch of times. I sleep with him."

From its resting place on the table, Grace's hand lurched two inches to grab my wrist. Her eyes went wide, like Oh my god, is this for real?

"What the fuck," said Sylvie, rubbing violently at her face. "No. No way. What the fuck am I doing here? You're fucking my ex. Liv is fucking my ex and your ex. She's gonna fuck my best friend if she hasn't already. Why'd you invite me, Liv? To bully me? To prove you can take anyone you want and get away with it? Perfect. Great. You did it! Who's left? You want my dad's number? You want me to call Uncle Dan so you can fuck him too?"

Liv had disengaged entirely, crossing her arms and staring across the terrace into the distance.

"Say something!" shouted Sylvie. "You're gonna ghost again? Disappear then! Fucking typical!"

"Come inside, Sylvie," said Marco, standing. "We can talk. We'll get some air and talk."

"Fuck this," she said, backing towards the house. "Fuck you. I'm done with this shit. I'm so fucking done." Shaking, out of expletives at last, Sylvie turned on her heel and disappeared inside.

We sat quietly for a long beat, the acid-y beats of jazz-funk covering Sylvie's retreat. A faint breeze pushed the ferns.

"Well, that was fun," said Liv. She picked an orange peel out of her sangria and flung it in the bushes. "Perfect. I do gay stuff with Pri too. Gay stuff. With Pri. Just so everyone's caught up. If it moves, I'll fuck it."

Thinking the coast was clear, Grace had been sipping from her cup and nearly choked on this last revelation. I patted her on the back until she was through the worst of it.

"You handled that well," said Marco dryly. He stacked a few dirty plates and started towards the kitchen. "There's no way we could have predicted such an immense lie backfiring."

Liv, face set, quietly watched him leave.

~

Late morning the next day I sat at the kitchen island, staring at the cabinetry. My mug was empty and my phone was laid on the counter, screen dark. I felt strangely detached, random bubbles of thought floating to the surface.

What if I actually became Pri's hidden boyfriend? I'd seen a story on Reddit about an arranged marriage. The husband and wife were gay and lived apart with their lovers, only pretending to be together at holidays. It fooled their families for years. It was almost poetic in a fucked up kind of way.

Or what if there was no way to fix things? What would life be like after her? I'd be a husk, a zombie. I'd put so much of myself into her, into us. A blurry version of Grace appeared in the back of my mind, someone nice who'd help me forget. I beat the image down guiltily.

And who the hell was I going to study with? Orgo II was going to be a nightmare without Pri running the show. God, those beautiful, color-coded notecards. God, those beautiful, violet lips.

Kay swept into the room, snapping their earbuds into their case. They were light on their feet, almost bouncy, and dripping with sweat. Bleached hair in wild spikes, their tank top was plastered to their stomach.

"What's up?" they asked. They dug around in the fridge, grunting and settling for orange juice in a glass.

"Nothing. Where'd you go?"

"Up the hill, down the hill. Somebody's driveway before I realized. Where's everybody? Marco's outside watering the trees like a fuckin' psycho."

"Upstairs, I think."

"Damn, still?"

I tapped my phone. "I think."

"I'm awake!" yelled a groggy Grace. She'd somehow heard us all the way from the mezz balcony. "Coffee please!"

Kay blankly turned to look for a mug. "I thought the shitshow was over. Guess they're still going. Model UN of girltalk."

I just nodded.

The previous day had gone to hell after Sylvie had stormed off. While she locked herself in her room the rest of us had wandered the house like ghosts, occasionally manifesting in twos or threes to haunt a room, then feeling weird and dispersing again.

Liv and Marco tried to act casual but couldn't help from sniping at each other. Grace and Kay were, in their own ways, confused by the whole episode. Maybe they were still shaken by the revelations, or they just didn't feel confident asking the questions they desperately wanted to ask. Frustration floated in the air like asbestos.

I had so much to explain, to be accountable for, but I had no idea how to start.

"So," said Kay. "You're just banging everybody, huh?"

I clenched for a moment, then laughed at the absurdity. "Looks that way."

"Well done. Aside from the current fuck up."

"If the only thing I take away from this trip is your kudos, I'll be happy."

"I doubt that."

They slid their phone from a pocket and zoned out. Kay's jogging outfit was light and sporty, totally different from the aloof, grayscale image I'd formed of them. Their running shorts had a cute stripe down the side, their white tank exposing their powerful shoulders, sinuous arms, and the pale bump of their collarbone.

I blinked rapidly when I realized they were wearing a sports bra instead of the chest binder. Their breasts were just... there. Bigger than I would have guessed, they made Kay seem instantly more feminine. Obviously. I looked away, feeling somehow ashamed.

"I'm gonna fuck off for a bit," I said.

"You got it."

I collected my Kindle from my room, slipped out the basement door, and jogged down the stone steps to the little brick terrace that clung to the rocks. It was hardly a secret—anyone that explored the backyard for more than two minutes would have found the twisting, lichen-dry stairs—but it still felt hidden away. A perfect place to read and pretend that everything wasn't on fire.

I peeled the tarp off the sun chairs and struggled through unfolding one. They were long and unwieldy, made of wooden rods and taut cloth, with little hooks and catches that only made sense after I'd turned the thing over ten times. When I'd finished, I'd worked up a sweat, and I quickly realized I'd be miserable unless I figured out the awning too.

Ten minutes later I was laid out in a perfect square of shade, legs extended, shirt lifted to enjoy the breeze on my stomach. I fired up an old favorite on my reader, the tale of a young village boy who discovers they have a great talent for magic...

I'd lost track of time when my phone buzzed, then buzzed again. I daydreamed, very briefly, of throwing it off the balcony. It was the kind of stupid thing the characters in movies used to do before phones were a thousand dollars.

It was Liv, which seemed bad.

Olivia: where are u

Olivia: i need your help

Jackson: Whats up?

Jackson: I'm reading

Olivia:????

Olivia: location?

For a moment I considered just not responding. She pinged me again.

Olivia: nm she knows where u are

Olivia: stay there

"Seemed bad" had evolved into "obviously bad." Why should I stay put? I hadn't seen or told anyone where I'd gone, so who was "she" and how did they know? I tucked my phone away and took a breath, resolving to let Liv be dramatic without comment.

Half-remembering the plot already, I read quickly, looking for the next chapter, the next exciting moment. Eventually, when I'd stopped anticipating her, I heard flip-flops clapping loudly down the steps and Liv appeared. She looked alert but was dressed like she'd just fallen out of bed, a loose tee over her soccer sweats. She had a canvas tote on her shoulder. I almost said something sarcastic before I noticed Sylvie.

Seeing the two of them, and only the two of them, was freaky. Liv's energy was jumpy and excited. Behind her, several feet behind her actually, Sylvie stood stony-faced, giving every indication that she'd rather be sucking on a tailpipe.

"Hey," said Liv, slightly out of breath. "So. Right. Need your help with something. But first, I want to apologize. How do I even fucking start here...? Uh, let's see. I know I'm pushy. I know I can influence you. I try to look out for you but I don't always give you many options. That's on Pri too, but this is my apology. And I was wrong to hide the... nature of our relationship from the others, especially after we started doing... sexual stuff." She looked back meaningfully at Sylvie, who was staring off at the ocean, mouth set. "I can see now that it wasn't okay. You know, dishonest. False pretenses. Gross. Immoral. Uh, what was it? Breach of trust.

"I am apologizing to Sylvie too," she said. "It's a process. And she's gonna apologize to me for things that were said..." When Sylvie didn't react, Liv smiled and blew out some air. "Oh right, the favor. It's, well... Sylvie is important to me. But as you know she's also Marco's ex, which can be difficult for everybody. She's also been super busy with classes and law society and all that, pretty much non-stop for... a couple of years. So for a while she really hasn't hooked up with anybody. You might say she's having a dry spell. Closed up the shop for a little bit. And you're—I mean, you're not dumb so you probably already guessed what I'm gonna ask: Jack, could you please, if it isn't too weird, can you please sex shaman for her?"

I sat up, turning in my seat. Sylvie glanced over for the tiniest moment, then returned to glaring at nothing. I knew we'd made some mistakes but what the fuck kind of solution was this? We're going to fuck our way out of our problems now? And Sylvie pretty obviously thought I was a dipshit...

Liv waited for a good long time before flipping her hand up at me, like And then you say...

I couldn't remember who'd come up with the words, but "sex shaman" meant to... be a guide, sort of. It could be breaking the ice, teaching something, or anything that broke down barriers to sex. It was our way of helping each other get over the hump... into the hump. Liv had done it for me and Pri. I'd done it for Liv and Marco. It was a big, aggressive push in the right direction. I'd almost forgotten the phrase.

"I'm not..." I started, before a random laugh jumped out of me. "Sorry, what?"

"Sex," said Liv. "With her." Sylvie's head whipped around, looking disgusted. Though she couldn't possibly have seen the reaction behind her, Liv quickly clarified. "Maybe not sex, pee in vee, vaginal intercourse. You two can figure it out, that's not really the point. This is a get-back-on-the-horse kinda thing. Clear out those pussy cobwebs. Dust the old bat cave if you know what I mean. Like, I'm out of vagina metaphors. Can you help with that?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. For me, I mean. Not making a judgment."

"I thought you'd say that." Liv reached deep in her sweats for her phone. A few swipes later, a voice memo played.

"What do you want me to say?" went Pri's voice.

Liv's voice answered: "Whatever would convince him. That you're good with it."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Hush."

"So, anything?" went Pri. "Okay. Um, Jack, I'm good with it. We've been talking for a while and everything's out in the open. I think it's a great idea. I approve. And I'm guessing you'll do a good job since this person is very attractive."

"What is this? Why are you talking in, like, code?"

"I'm not going to let you record me saying—"

Liv cut the off voices with a tap. "She's careful like that, the little bitch. So there. I wanna be clear: you can still say no. Seriously. Coercing you into more sex stuff is counter to the whole project. It's just, you know, sex shaman."

Sylvie's shoulders were squared, her tiny frame swallowed up by a large NYU sweatshirt, a sliver of red shorts visible below the hem. Her auburn hair was tied up in a messy bun. She suddenly met my eyes. Her thick, chrome septum ring was exactly the kind of thing you'd see hanging from the nose of a bull. It lent her a kind of animal intensity, like she was about to charge across the patio and gore me.

She was unbelievably capable and proud. For her to stand there, suffering through Liv's request, through my bumbling responses, without comment, was remarkable. She picked at her cuff furiously.

Even if Liv denied it—almost because she denied it—I knew I was being coerced. But to reject Sylvie at this point, for her to put herself out like this and for me to say no, it was crueler than I wanted to be. Besides that, the honest, raw piece of my brain freely admitted that I'd love to fuck her. Once I figured that part out it was pretty much over.

"Okay," I said. A staticky sensation tickled the back of my neck. "Whatever she wants."

Liv's face split into a wide, sunny smile.

"Awesome. Fucking great, wow. I wasn't totally sure you'd go for it. Just, you know, play nice. I already her you're a good fuck, so just be yourself." She vibrated a little bit, and I got the sense that she wanted to rush forward and hug me. Instead she handed me the canvas tote. "And I got some things you might need. Or not! Either way, I'm outta here!"

As she passed close to her friend, Liv slowed. Sylvie's eyes softened, her invincibility fading for a moment, and they briefly touched hands. Then the two of us were alone, the clapping of Liv's flip-flops fading up the steps.

Sylvie glanced around the balcony. I still wasn't convinced she'd go through with it. I said nothing, did nothing. I wanted her to back out if she suddenly realized it was all wrong. Then she sighed and nodded, as though she'd inspected the conditions and found them lacking but unavoidable.

"I bet you're loving this," she said. "Very magnanimous of you."

There was no good response. When I didn't react she rolled her eyes at herself. Her voice had always been naturally low and raspy, and the few minutes she'd spent waiting, salivating nervously, had dropped it even lower. She sounded like fog.

She took an uncertain step, then steeled herself and walked under the awning with me. Barely five feet tall, she didn't even need to duck. Without a fuss, she sat on the edge of the lounger, primly, heel against toe in strappy sandals.

We waited, not quite looking at each other. I laid the tote on the ground and nudged it aside with my foot.

"Obviously don't tell anyone about this," she said. "One more secret won't kill you, but you should try to keep mine better than you've kept yours."

"That's all on Liv. You know what they always say: 'I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for...'"

"If it weren't for fucking slutty-ass Liv." She looked grim at her own bitchiness.

"I won't tell anyone."

Another long pause, the soundtrack gone silent. Day after day, the sky never seemed to change here. It was a permanent, stark blue with wandering clouds and distant gulls. Through the gaps in the railing, sailing ships darted along the water.

"I'm not nice," she said. "I don't need you to treat me nicely."

"Did you want me to treat you nicely?"

"God, don't try to make it easy. I just know you're going to be a piece of shit about this."

"I am?" She was so unfiltered that it was natural to be unfiltered back. "You're an asshole but you're really hot. Like, you're fucking beautiful. So I want to be near you. I can make you feel good if you want."

"Such an obvious dominance ritual. I'm the frigid, hard-to-get chick and you want to win me. You wanna fuck. You want the trophy that says I submitted."

"Yeah, probably a little," I laughed. "I'll fight you some more if you want. You are being kind of a bitch."

She looked away, rubbing her cheek against her shoulder, and sighed. She slid toward me, half the distance between us. I covered the rest until we were hip to hip. The fabric of the lounger creaked. Her huge sweatshirt had folded up at the waist, revealing little red workout shorts hemmed in white. Just like her arms and face, her legs were pale like cold ivory.

I placed my hand in the small of her back, and when she didn't pull away, I leaned in to kiss her neck. She made a tiny hum, stifling some deeper reaction, and tilted her face up to mine. Her mouth was nervous, her lips warm but stiff. Without protesting, she let me cover her with dry kisses until finally, slowly nodding her head, she kissed me back. I felt her moving, and when I opened my eyes she'd raised a hand as if to touch my chest. It floated there, inches away, unable to make the connection.

Sylvie ended our kisses, leaning back a respectable distance. Her cheeks were flushed, and she absently recentered the ring in her nose.

"I'm not having sex with you," she said. "I don't want to. And besides, it's too fucking big. Kissing is okay but no dirty talk. No pet names. Call me 'good girl' and I walk. I'm very..." She looked away for a moment before remembering her shiny spine and looking me in the eye. "I'm sensitive down there, so listen when I tell you 'no.' Ask first. Don't fucking freestyle."

It was a thorough introduction. I wondered if she'd practiced it at all, even in her mind.

I nodded. "Can I kiss you some more?"

Her brow creased, clearly annoyed, but she leaned in again. Her tongue darted into my mouth, tentative, like a kid being pushed on stage for the school play. Hoping that it was allowed, I reached across her stomach to hold her narrow hips in both hands.

With sex off the table, we made out with the quiet intensity of horny highschoolers. Pausing for a moment, Sylvie crossed her arms and lifted her sweatshirt over her head.

Underneath was a plain undershirt, tight and strappy and cotton. She didn't have a bra on and the shirt stretched tightly over her tiny breasts. They were high and pointy, unaffected by gravity. The clinging shirt revealed less than the bikini I'd already seen her in, and yet it was a hundred times more erotic. Her pale shoulders, the hollow of her throat, her silver necklace, it should have been nothing new.

There was one big difference between her bikini top and the shirt: I could see that Sylvie's nipples were pierced. The stiff nubs pressed into the fabric, showing a small barbell through each. I sighed deeply, my cock hardening.

"Can I touch you?" I asked. "Your breasts, I mean."

"Okay," she replied breathily, pulling me towards her. She kissed me wetly as I cupped her tit, sliding against the smooth material. When she wasn't in her own head about it, she was a great kisser, a natural. She had no problem letting me take charge for a bit before reasserting herself. I flicked a piercing and she gasped.

"It's okay?"

"Yeah. You can do it again..."

I flicked the other barbell. Her nipple was like a pebble under my fingers. She gasped again, her shoulders drooping.

"Softer," she said. "You don't need to do that much."

I teased her with my thumb, squeezing the flesh of her hip tightly in my other hand. Sylvie kissed me a dozen times, each one interrupted by an exhalation as I fondled her piercings. When she stroked my thigh, I shivered, my cock forcing itself painfully down the leg of my shorts. I shifted in my seat a few times in a row, trying to let the head escape without being so obvious as to touch it.

"Holy fuck," she said, looking down at my lap. My underwear-wrapped cock was poking out past the hem, raising the leg of my shorts like a pup tent. There was a stain over my slit, a fat bead of precum seeping through the material. Sylvie reached out, eyes wide.

"I thought we were asking first," I said.

She yanked the hand back like she'd been burned, giving me an awful look. I stared back, daring her. She only blushed and frowned, her diamond-hard nipples pointing at me.

"You can put a finger inside," she said. "But don't touch my clit. I don't like it." Maybe she felt some reaction off of me, or maybe she'd needed to explain this thoroughly in the past. "It's too sensitive. I get plenty without that."

I gave her nipple a parting stroke, then slowly lowered my hand, Sylvie half-sliding off the chair to let me in. I tented her waistband, catching a glimpse of curly brown pubic hair, and placed my middle finger over her slit. The skin was hot and flushed but not as wet as I'd hoped after all of our teasing. As I gently played, I found that trapped behind her little lips was a sopping mess of lubrication waiting to be released. I added pressure until the tip of my finger, barely to the first knuckle, entered her. She gasped and grabbed my wrist.

"Okay?" I asked.

She grabbed my wrist and forced me deeper, then deeper again. Sylvie rocked back and forth on my hand, using my finger as a toy, her walls squeezing rhythmically.

"Kiss me," she rasped. "Don't wait for me to tell you. Just keep kissing me."

I slid my tongue into her mouth, working my jaw as I sucked and bit her lips. The moment stretched on, the sweet schlick of her pussy under our sloppy kisses.

"I'm gonna get closer," I said. "I'll be able to touch you better."

Her body went stiff, some kind of flight response taking hold, but eventually she nodded. Taking the opportunity to reposition my aching cock up into my waistband, I shifted until I was sitting behind her, placing her between my legs. My hand traced over her shoulder, her breast, her smooth stomach and mound, until my finger was back inside. She groaned and pressed back into me.

"Jesus Christ," she said. "Is that your fucking dick? It's, like, between my shoulder blades..."

"Mhmm." I kissed the nape of her neck. "I'm going to use my other hand. I'm going to be gentle."

She was so small I could have easily enveloped her, picked her up and carried her away. Unsure of what to do, she lamely rested her hands on my parted knees. With one finger steadily penetrating her, I pressed my other hand into her pubic mound, massaging from side-to-side.

"Ohshitfuck," Sylvie gasped. She took a sharp breath, clawing at my thighs, like she'd been plunged in cold water. "What the fuck? What the fuck?" Her pussy clenched, her sandals scraping helplessly against the brick.

"Tell me when to stop." I clamped down harder on her pubis until I felt the pressure on opposite sides of G-spot. "Just tell me when. You're in control..."

"Keep," she said, writhing. "Keep going."

I blew a hot breath onto the back of her neck and forced my index finger in past her swollen lips. She bucked between my arms, cunt spasming, throwing her head back. If I hadn't been kissing her neck she might have broken my nose. She rode out her orgasm as long as she could.

"Stop," she whispered. I abruptly pulled my hands out of her shorts, pressing them flat against her stomach as she gasped and shook. I held her through the aftershocks.

After a minute or two, her breathing had slowed to something close to normal.

"Show me," she said, pushing the flat of her back into me. "I want to see this fucking thing."

"Already?"

"Don't. You said I was in control."

"Stand right there," I said, pointing. "Then you can tell me what you want me to do."

Sylvie rose, wobbling, and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. Her hair shimmered like swirling copper. She turned, almost reluctantly, squinting to see me in the shade. Her pierced nipples looked like they would slice through her shirt. Her little red shorts were lopsided.

I waited for her instructions.

"Take it all off," she said.

I did, dropping my shirt to the bricks and rolling my hips to slip off my cummy bottoms. My veiny cock towered above my thighs, leaning forward from its weight. My purple glans was shiny with precum. Between the summer sun and Sylvie's heat between my legs, my huge balls hung down deeply, stretching my sack.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ." She covered her mouth. "You fucking mutant."

I just smiled, not too embarrassed.

"Jerk off," she said. Eyes locked on my crotch, it seemed easier for her to talk to my dick directly. "And make it dramatic."

I moved as slowly as I could bear, not wanting to seem too easy. I gripped my shaft just below the head and stroked lightly, sack swinging.

"No, no. Use the lube. In the bag."

I leaned over, my erection tapping against my stomach. In the tote was a bottle of water, a tiny black bottle of lube, and a strip of Magnums. I didn't even question the condoms as I worked the lube onto my cock, slick and tight in my twisting fist. The long, casual strokes made a lewd, slippery noise.

"God," I moaned, louder than I needed to. "It feels fucking good."

"You look like you're already about to cum."

"I don't know," I said. "Do you want me to?"

"Nobody can actually take that thing, can they? Like, inside them."

"I was a virgin for a long time. Girls would see it and they'd run. Ghost me. I didn't realize until later how many times it happened. I was pretty clueless about it."

"But now?"

"I've only ever slept with Pri and Liv."

"Yeah. Right. And they're not afraid? Pri I can understand, but Liv? She didn't really."

"She needs to be really turned on, and we have to go slow. Use lots of lube. But yeah, she can take almost all of it."

Sylvie pawed at her stomach. "You're all tested? Liv said you don't use condoms."

I paused mid-stroke. "I don't know. I did, and I know Liv did. But I've only ever had sex with them."

"And Marco. You have sex with everyone that your partner does."

"You sound like sex ed."

"Do you fuck him?" she asked. "Have you fucked Marco?"

"No."

"You share everything else. You share Pri with him. After that shit in the car, I thought maybe you did." On the drive here they'd grilled me about my sexuality. Sylvie clearly thought I was too ashamed to admit I was bi.

I shook my head and released my lube-shiny cock, letting it sway heavily into neutral, pointing its angry head right at her.

"I want to try it," she said. "In me."

"What? I thought you—"

"I changed my mind. Am I in charge or not?"

"I want to fuck you so bad, Syl." Her jaw jutted out. Every time I complimented her it seemed to somehow piss her off. "You don't want to hear how hot you are? How I want to crush you under me as I fuck you deep?"

"Fuck off. I told you not to—"

"Take off your clothes."

She practically flinched, but she dropped her hands to her side, swallowing deeply, as if preparing. The undershirt came off first, over her head and onto the ground. The shorts and panties were next. She squatted, undoing the clips on her sandals, displaying her furry pussy. The hair was thick and curly, the edges shaved just enough that it wouldn't show in a bikini. Her engorged lips and a clit were a vivid red against the pale white of her thighs.

Stepping away from the sandals, she was naked except for her necklace. She adjusted it back to center, then adjusted her septum ring, then the necklace again. She resumed her idea of an unaffected pose, arms dangling, chin up, staring defiantly. Her nipples were as red as her labia, the skin around them flushed pink where I'd pinched her. She glanced around, studying the area, and I realized she was trying to figure out how we would even do it.

The sun chair was long but narrow, way smaller than even a twin bed, the notoriously rough hookup spot. There was also the issue of control, of depth and speed. I dropped the backrest of the lounger flat.

"If you want it," I said, patting the seat. "Come here."

I swore I heard the clench of her jaw as she walked back under the awning. She stood inches away, pale, naked, and radiating anxious energy.

"How?" she asked quietly. Despite the summer sun and the heat radiating off our bodies, she shivered. "I don't care how we do it."

I leaned slowly until I found her nipple with my mouth. It was salty with sweat, tart and metallic from the piercing. With a cupped hand, I slowly pushed my fingers back inside of her. She reeled, grabbing my shoulder. I used my other hand to squeeze her ass cheek. It was smooth and firm and shook nicely in my palm. For a moment I lost myself against her body, trying to touch every inch of skin all at once, until her impatient groan brought me back.

"Get a condom out of the bag," I said.

"You don't want me to suck your dick?"

"Do you want to?"

"Not really."

"Then no, I don't want you to suck my dick. Do you still want to fuck?"

"Yes," she said. "I do."

"Then... get a condom out of the bag."

As Sylvie bent over to search the tote, I groped her, adding a light slap to her pert little ass, the cheek flushing pink. When she straightened up I reached out to take the condom.

"I can do it," she said.

She squatted again, natural and limber, her eyebrows crinkling in concentration as she tore open the foil. For a moment she just held the ring, biting her lip, her hot breath tickling the tip of my cock, before finally pushing the condom over the head. Even some "large" brands were too tight for me, and it took her a few seconds of rolling and tugging to get it on. She followed with a comically large squirt of hot lube down my shaft and balls while she worked a finger inside herself in preparation.

She stood. Cock dripping, I kissed her chest again, not sucking or biting, just a single, firm press of my lips between her breasts. My eyes closed, I breathed in the smell of her, sweat and soap, for ten seconds, then twenty.

Sylvie put a hand on my forehead and pushed me back. She crawled into my lap, straddling me, hands braced on my shoulders. Calves straining, she tried to raise her hips above my cock, the shaft batting against her mound. She was a little too low and, without thinking, I took two handfuls of her ass and lifted her. In that moment she weighed nothing, and together we lowered her until my head spread her slick lips.

She hissed and froze. She was so fucking tight. Her breath caught with each throb of my cock, with every heartbeat. Finally meeting my eye, she seemed angrier and more frustrated than ever, as if daring me to be so cruel as to comfort her. Gritting her teeth, she dropped lower, pussy stretching. Then she raised her hips and dropped again.

For most of my life I'd never thought of my equipment as anything special. As fucking stupid as it made me, with my lanky frame and large hands, the size had seemed proportional. Now knowing what I had, it gave me a special thrill to be praised, to see the size difference when Pri stroked me with her little hands, for Liv to joke how I'd make her walk funny for a week.

Watching my cock disappear inside Sylvie was better than all of it. It was as long as her forearm and noticeably thicker. As she grimaced and wrapped her cunt around me, it almost looked like someone was fisting her from below. It turned me on so much, which made me even thicker, which made her struggle all the more. It was fucked up. It was incredible.

Once she was mounted, I kept my hands hovering nearby to assist. Working her way up and down with little grunts, she fluttered through expressions of pain, relief, and sometimes confusion. Her labia, swollen and red, flared out around my shaft. She treated me like a climbing wall, pinching my shoulders brutally as she went.

It wasn't surprising when her legs began to shake. She was, openly, very out of practice. For just an instant, her stance faltered and actual fear flashed on her face. Before everything went to shit, before she fell and fucking impaled herself, I braced behind her head and under her thigh, kissed her rudely curled mouth, and stood up, cock rigid inside her.

She huffed into my mouth. "The fuck...?"

I lifted her completely, turned, and carefully lowered her flat onto the sun chair. My lube-shiny cock slipped free at the end to slap and wave. It took two or three seconds at most, Sylvie utterly shocked through the maneuver. I could only fit one knee beside her on the lounger, hovering over her, my other foot stretched back in an athletic stance.

She was wild-eyed and out of breath. "What the fuck, did I say, about freestyling?"

"You were gonna get hurt," I said, not hiding my roaming eyes. Her chest had gone splotchy with blushing reds and pinks, the gap between her tiny breasts collecting a sheen of sweat. "Do you want to stop?"

She glared through me, setting her mouth. She looked away and opened her legs.

I shifted my back foot, toes gripping the brickwork, and slowly split her open. She groaned and grabbed me by the meat of each bicep. Kissing her neck wetly, I pumped my hips, returning to our previous depth and then some. One of her legs kicked out as if she was somehow trying to make room for me, toes almost stretching beyond the shadow of the awning.

I was rough and loose, pushing again and again until, on a deep stroke, I hit the back of her pussy. The other girls would buck or kick or cry out when I hit their cervix, but Sylvie just squirmed a little, eyelids fluttering. Maybe I hesitated.

"Keep going," she said.

I pumped my hips again, tapped deep and paused.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "It's okay."

So I fucked her. Cradling her, kissing her neck and mouth, licking her lips and squeezing her hair in both fists, I pushed deep, stroke after stroke, bottoming out again and again. The pressure that deep was incredible, even if the condom blunted a lot of the sensation.

"Get higher." She pulled at me, pushing on my ribs until I was towering over her, cock pistoning down. "Yess," she hissed. "Like that. Oh fuck, like that..."

Where Pri was deep and Liv was sensitive, it seemed that Sylvie loved to be battered and bruised. I punished her with hard, brutal strokes, her tiny tits shaking violently. It wasn't long before she was beating at my shoulders with balled up fists, eyes clenched, cumming like a freight train. I kissed the bulging cords of her neck, hammering her deeper and deeper into a shaking, eye-rolling orgasm.

"Guh-guh-guh-guh," she moaned mindlessly as she slicked my latex-covered cock with cum.

I wanted to cum so badly but the condom was too tight. As she came, on and on, her face beet-red, it was obvious that I was pushing her too hard. Her voice was coarse and gasping and desperate. Timing my exit between the rhythm of her jumping hips, I pulled out and lowered myself until we were chest to chest.

She flinched and shivered and gasped. Instead of caressing her or talking sweetly, I simply crushed her beneath me like a fallen tree and waited for the shaking to stop. The ocean, a distant, slow-moving hush, sounded a little like Sylvie's raspy breathing.

"Will you get the fuck off me?" she said eventually.

"It's aftercare, you stupid bitch."

She tensed, then laughed her low, brutish laugh.

"Okay, then will you stop fucking aftercaring me?"

Sliding back, careful not to break her, I sat up and examined my cock. Two inches from the base the condom had dug a deep ring in my skin. I was pretty sure there'd be no lasting damage but I frowned all the same.

"Goddamnit," she said. "You didn't cum? You didn't cum."

"It's not you. At all. The condom was too tight. I don't... usually wear them." I rolled it off, wincing, careful not to snap myself.

"I don't give a shit about that." She angled upright, propped up on stretching arms. "I don't want to owe you. It's bad enough you have this over me."

"I don't have anything over you, you fucking sociopath. I had a good time, you had a good time. You don't have to destroy every fucking good thing."

She shut up. God, I loved making her shut up. A long moment later, she decided she had something to say.

"Go again."

"Huh?"

"I want you to get off. So... go again. I don't mind."

I kept my face relaxed but my cock, the traitor, jumped. "The hell does that mean?"

She flipped onto her side, struggling a little, then face down. Kneeling with each ankle draped off the lounger, she lowered her chest to the fabric and presented her pussy to me.

It was fucking beautiful. Blushing, pale ass cheeks with just enough roundness to squeeze, her lips engorged and wet, bored open from the dicking I'd just given her. Her asshole and hairy slit were connected by a thin strip of pink skin.

"You shouldn't—" I cut myself off, knowing that was the wrong tack. "I can't anyway. The condoms are too tight."

"So don't wear one," she said into the lounger. She didn't move her head, her voice cool and disembodied. "I don't care. I've had an IUD since highschool. If you gave Liv fucking HPV, you might as well give it to me too."

I sat stunned for a moment, but she never moved, only breathing deep and occasionally clenching her pelvic floor, asshole winking at me. I reached out to palm a cheek. It was burning hot.

I grabbed the lube again and squirted a healthy amount along the top of my shaft and head, then scooted towards her. I felt like some geometry problem, angling my hips this way and that, puzzling out the low approach. The only way I'd be able to get inside was to literally stand, legs splitting wider and wider, until I was lined up with her waiting pussy. When I was finally in place, my hip flexors were creaking.

I spread the lube up and down her slit with the tip of my cock. Sylvie didn't adjust herself, didn't speak. Elbows together, head dropped, she only tensed for a second as I pushed inside of her for the third time.

God damn. Without the fucking condom, her pussy was hot, wet, and viciously tight. It took me ten or fifteen slow strokes to squeeze halfway in, the pink sphincter of pussy muscle gripping my cock, stretched to its absolute limit. I thrust deep and, as I knew I would, I knocked into her cervix. Aside from a little flex in her back, she didn't react.

"What does it feel like?" I asked. "Hitting you there doesn't hurt?"

When she didn't respond, I hit her deep again, and again, nothing. With her back arched low, pert ass raised to be my perfect fuckhole, Sylvie offered up her body as payment for services rendered. It felt like dream logic: in the moment, it made a perverse sort of sense, but later we'd realize how insane it was.

Standing awkwardly over her, breathing heavy, I took what she owed me. My hands engulfing her narrow hips, I railed her little cunt, bottoming out on every stroke, the lube working itself into a sticky line around the base of my shaft, marking the inches of my cock that physically couldn't fit inside her. My instinct was to compliment, thank her for the pleasure I was getting, but I knew it would just make her angry. Instead I grunted and swore, the list of praise growing in my mind.

"Fuck..."

You beautiful girl, your pussy is so fucking tight.

"Shit, it's good."

You take this big cock so good, do you know that? You're so tough, taking this cock that's way too big for you. It feels good, even if it hurts.

"Stay like that, stay like that..."

Your body is so perfect... I want to worship every inch. You can cum on my dick, but only if you're a good girl...

"Are you going to cum?" she asked distantly.

"Not yet," I said, pushing extra deep for a moment, cock bending under the pressure. On the back of my stroke, in the moments before I slammed back inside, her pussy clung to me, the ridge of my cock head visible through the pink, paper-thin skin. I felt like I was turning her inside out, like I was deforming her vagina. The smell of my semen and her musk mingled together, making my mouth water. "Does it feel good?"

"Just finish."

"I'm enjoying myself," I said, pulling her asscheeks apart and releasing, just to watch them jiggle back into place around my cock. "So I'm not going to cum for a bit, okay?"

I thought she would object, even curse at me, but all she said was, "Okay."

When I was wearing the condom, I was desperate to cum. Now without one, I wanted to savor it, clenching, trying to hold off my release. I reveled in the obscene size difference, stretching Sylvie's hairy lips with a cock that was comically too large for her. I grunted, half laughing, half aching to cum.

"Do you need me to do something?"

"Fuck me back," I said. It took a second, like she didn't expect me to actually respond. Rocking back on her knees, slowly at first, she pushed into me. "That's good. That's really good."

I pulled my hands away, content to watch her bounce against me, choking her tiny pussy with my girth. Picking up speed, she rocked faster and deeper, harder and harder until I didn't even need to thrust. She swallowed my cock with rhythmic, noisy pussy-slurps. I didn't make it much longer before the familiar trickle of endorphins started, my orgasm building at the base of my cock. I was ready.

"Yes," I said. "Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum, Sylvie."

"It's okay."

"You're gonna make me cum..."

"You can cum. Inside me. I don't care."

"Fuck. No really, I'm gonna cum."

"Do it inside. I don't care."

Her raspy voice was almost too low to hear over the sloppy, disgusting fuck-noises. My brain was low on oxygen, and when I finally processed what she'd said, Sylvie was pounding against me, brutalizing herself with the iron bar of my erection. The bun of her shimmery hair flapped back and forth, losing strand after strand until the clip flung itself off with a clatter.

As my balls lifted, ready to blow, her asshole started to contract, pussy squeezing me rapidly. Toes clenching, Sylvie's hair covered her entire head like a shroud. She looked like a Japanese horror film ghost and as silent as death she pushed her face into the chair and came on my cock.

I clamped my hands on to her pale waist and shot my load inside.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming," I moaned. "You feel so fucking good..."

Another wave of my orgasm, another squirt of cream in her pulsating cunt. I rapidly stroked in and out, just deep enough to tap her cervix, coating it with several ounces of cum as I shook and grunted over her. I leaned hard, straight-armed, hands planted on her lower back as I emptied my balls.

Eventually I buckled, my hips aching, my ass falling to the chair. When my cock slid out, a torrent of slick cream spurted out of her like an unplugged dam. For a moment I thought she was trying to push it out on purpose, like the last scene in some creampie video, but it was only her natural orgasmic contractions. She was still cumming, pussy gaping and closing, hips rocking, helplessly ejecting my seed onto the sun chair between us.

Eventually there was nothing left inside her, and air seemed to fill her lungs for the first time in several minutes.

Sylvie's position was solid, and despite being fucked ragged, she rested sphinx-like for a long time. I sat, dazed, my cock and balls drying sticky. I realized that she probably wasn't going anywhere and I used my t-shirt to scrape the puddle of cum off the chair, leaving a wet spot the size of a plate. I took the water bottle from the tote and drank deep.

At some signal I didn't understand, Sylvie groaned and twisted into a rough sitting position, hair thrown everywhere in loops and curls. She didn't have the blissful afterglow that I expected, the glow that was, presumably, on my face. She just looked tired as she reached out for the water bottle.

"Good job," she said, patting the air with an unsteady hand. "Four out of five."

"Dickhead."

"You can take it easy next time. I didn't need to go from dusty uterus to level-ten porn-fuck."

I huffed a laugh, not taking the obvious "next time" bait. We stared off at nothing with the dull inattention of the recently asleep. She passed the water bottle back to me. A seagull flapped to a nearby ledge, negotiating several failed landings before giving up and gliding away again.

"I know how you feel," said Sylvie at last. She sounded blank, like she was reading the words out loud instead of actually feeling them. I know how you feel, said the girl on page two-hundred. It didn't seem like a real thing she could say.

"I mean it," she said, looking directly at me. Her eyes were golden-brown. "Pri and Liv, best friends for life. You come along, you stupid boy, and you take one away. But now you're a part of it. You're locked into their weird little thing. And when it doesn't work any more, suddenly you're outside looking in. And then you're back to school and you're surrounded by thirty thousand people and you are somehow more alone than you were before." She scratched idly at her collar bone. "You think I don't get it, but I do."

Sylvie Empathy was not on my bingo card. I guess I was actually kind of shit at predicting things.

"This is why they burned witches," I said. "You know that right? Feels like you just ripped me open and read the inside of my chest."

"Yeah, same but my vagina. And you're not—These aren't original thoughts. Everything you're feeling has been felt before."

"Thank god. You were almost in danger of relating to someone."

She snorted and shook her head. It took her a few seconds to continue.

"It's not like I dumped Marco, you know that, right? It was so obvious that Liv was fucking in love with him. I still don't know why she set us up. It was a disaster. Designed to fail. After he dumped me, Liv didn't talk to me for six months. I knew her for years, I knew her first, and I still got pushed out."

I struggled to say something. "That's... fucked up. For me too, you know. Like, history repeats itself."

"It didn't last forever. The broken part. If you were actually friends, it doesn't. Eventually she apologized. Marco and I made up. Back to status quo—maybe a little crooked, you know, maybe some glue at the seams—but back to something normal. I can't tell you it was ever that great but we got there. And I'm glad they're finally together."

I felt my face react before I could stop it. She rolled her eyes weakly.

"I don't care if you believe me. We were terrible together. He's a very sensitive boy. Reactive. We drove each other nuts. Just... when your ex is hot, and when they've got all this potential, people say things. You wonder if you fucked up, if there was anything you could have even done."

"Was there anything? That you could have done, I mean?"

"I used to think so. But no. I just needed to get out of the way. It was better for everyone."

"You talk about it like you got divorced," I said. "Like you're in your forties."

"Feels like it."

"So is the sex still good after forty?"

"If you find a young guy."

"Fuck off." I laughed softly. "You try to come across as morose, witty Jewess but it's giving clinical depression."

The corner of her mouth tilted up. "Big dick, tiny brain," she said, pointing in my direction. "Sad. Many such cases."

"Being a cunt is not as cute as you think it is."

"That a mustache or a twelve-year-old's pubic hair glued to your face?"

"The Itty-Bitty-Titty-Committee called. They need you to reach quorum."

Her smile cracked wide, teeth sharp. "Yeah, sex is great, but have you tried having someone actually love you?"

I clutched my chest, wounded. "When everyone finally drops me, I'll give you a call. Not for advice, obviously, but to one-up the trauma you built your entire personality on." I paused for a second. "Dumb bitch."

Sylvie laughed out loud and clapped her hands together.