After a couple of dances, in which she got bolder and bolder, and I grew harder and harder, Megan led me to a bedroom and locked the door. She’s nineteen, I learned while dancing. I also quickly discovered that she clearly knows a lot more about sex than I do.

 

Right now, her hand is expertly wrapped around my shaft. It's the first time ever, a hand other than mine has touched me like that. Holy shit!” I exclaim, my voice strangled and my toes curl in pleasure as she gathers fluid from my leaking head and slowly twists her hand. Nothing I’ve ever done or felt before has been this good. I let out another garbled noise as her hand glides down my length.

​

““I’m gonna rock your world,” Adam, Meghan promises, her drawl soft and sexy against my lips. She does unimaginable things with her tongue as she nips and sucks her way down my body. And her hand, that magical hand, keeps up its ministrations.

 

I'm garbling nonsensical words that are cut off suddenly as the sensation of something a thousand times better, wetter, and hotter engulfs me. “Fuck! I groan as I lift up on my elbows and take in the sight of plump, shiny lips wrapped around me. I grit my teeth, praying, 'Please, please, please don’t let me embarrass myself,' as I struggle not to come.

​

Megan releases me with a plop, smirks seductively, and then, holding my gaze, lowers her head to lick from base to tip—deliberately and slowly. My breath leaves me in a shuddering whoosh. "Oh...oh, " I moan incoherently because, apparently, I’ve lost the ability to speak.

​

“You taste so good,” Megan tells me. She swirls her incredible tongue around my head and brings me to the brink, stops, and then starts all over again.

​

White-hot heat sears and rips its way through my body when, without warning, she relaxes her throat and swallows me to the hilt. I throw my head back and let out a long, raspy moan as she withdraws, only to do it again and again until I’m a writhing mass of skin and bones.

​

“Fuck, fuck, fu. u..ck! I practically yell as I experience my first orgasm with a girl.

​

​

                                                                * * * * *

​

“Adam?” Mom calls out from the kitchen as I sneak upstairs.

​

“Umm, hi Mom,” I answer, hoping she doesn’t notice how nervous I sound.

​

“Come and tell me about your night. Did you have a good time?”

​

“ Yes, but I’m tired; I just want to go to bed,” I lie.

​

“Okay, sweetheart. See you in the morning.”

​

I sigh, relieved that she didn't come into the hallway and see my rumpled clothes or catch a whiff of beer and sex. Not that Megan and I had sex, but after what she did for me, I was eager to reciprocate, and she wasn’t shy about showing me exactly what she likes. I grin at the memory of her explicit words of encouragement; of her husky moans and blissed-out expression as she'd come. Doing that to a girl was also a first for me.

​

At the top of the stairs, I'm careful not to disturb Dad, who’s probably already in bed.

​

“Why are you sneaking around like a thief” Cait demands from my bedroom door.

​

“Shhh!” I signal, pointing to our parents’ room and push past her.

​

“Eww!  She scrunches her face and follows me into my room. “You stink. What’ve you been doing?”

​

“Mind your own business,” I say, grabbing a t-shirt and sleep pants before moving to the bathroom.

​

“You’ve been drinking,” she accuses.

​

“Two beers.”

​

“You smell like something else too.”

​

“People were smoking.”

​

“Did Matt?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

​

“Were there girls there?” she demands when I ignore her.

​

“It was a party, Caitlin. There were guys and girls.”  I open the bathroom door. 

​

“What girls?”

​

“Why do you want to know?” I turn to ask.

​

“Just wondering,” she mutters and walks away, looking upset. I should go ask what’s wrong, but I need to shower and brush my teeth before Mom decides to check on me.

​

In bed, l get hard just thinking about how good Megan’s mouth felt. And I remember the thrill and unexpected pleasure it gave me to touch and taste her and how much I enjoyed watching her flushed body when she came. For me.

​

My hand seems to have developed a mind of its own and is wrapped tightly around my quickly growing shaft. Realizing that Mom, and possibly Cait, could still be wandering around, I quickly lock my door and grab a discarded t-shirt before returning to bed.

​

My hand moves faster, spurred on by the memory of Meghan's full lips, her dirty words, and hot, wet mouth. My body stiffens like a board, and my toes dig into my mattress as I come, breathless and panting. And then, while still trying to catch my breath, I wonder how and when I can arrange to see Megan again

​

Three days later, we're leaving The Hangout when Mitch Jones and his friends accost us.

​

“Where are my fuckin' hubcaps!” he demands, getting right in Ian's face. Ian grins, an unspoken challenge to do something about it. Matt, Alan, and I step up, and then, of course, Mitch’s friends join the party.

​

“Who’d want anything from that piece of shit you call a car?” Alan taunts.

​

“What did you fuckin' do with them?” Mitch shoves Ian’s shoulder.

 

Ian retaliates by grabbing a handful of his shirt. “Get your fucking hands off me! He growls, giving Mitch a hefty shove. Mitch smashes his fist into Ian’s gut then kicks him while he’s still bent over, winded. He’s about to do it again when I punch him on the side of the head, and, before I know it, we’re a tangle of fists, arms, and legs. In my periphery, I notice that people have stopped, but I ignore them.

 

At last, I can release the fury that's been strangling me. It feels so goddam good to be pounding someone. Instead of Mitch and his cronies, I see Adam Winston and every slimy bastard who’d ever walked into our apartment to hurt Eleanor or frighten me.

​

“Go, Thorne!” Matt whoops as I straddle one of Mitch’s friends, my hands wrapped around his neck. I glance up to see him bent over another guy, pulling his arms up behind his back. Matt’s bleeding above his eye, and I suddenly realize I can taste blood, so either my nose or lip’s bleeding too.

​

I return Matt's grin, and the guy I’m pinning down lands a blow to my shoulder. I punch him in the face, and I’m about to do it again when, suddenly, I'm dragged away. I turn, swinging, only to be confronted by the beefy form of Sergeant O’Connell.

​

“I’d think before you do that, son,” he warns, and I quickly drop my arm. The fight leaves me like air escaping a balloon when I glance around and see several police officers surround our bedraggled group.

​

“Fuck!” Matt exclaims as he also realizes the mess we’re in. I’m already picturing Dad's disappointment and the hurt on Mom’s face.

​

“I’m not riding with him!” Ian says as he’s led away with Mitch. “Shut it,” an officer snaps before roughly shoving him into a police car. Matt, Alan, and I are squashed into the back of another. We’re quiet; our adrenaline-fueled high disappearing along with our bravado when the doors slam, shutting us in. Me, I’m worried because as good as it felt to land those punches and even take some in return, I'm feeling ashamed at the thought of how badly I’ve let my family down.

​

At the precinct, I end up in a cell with Ian and one of Mitch’s friends, who. we learn is called Tim. Ian makes a snide remark about Timothy being a pussy name, but he soon shuts up when a huge, tattooed guy tells him it doesn't matter what we're called. He’d make each of us ‘pretty pussies’ shout his name— which, he tells us is Bull. He leers and says he really hopes one of us ends up as his cellmate. I cringe, feeling a mix of fear and disgust. I’ve heard stories about what goes on in jail, and I sure as hell don’t want to find out for myself.

​

His remarks revs up a couple of other guys, who join in enthusiastically. They look like members of a bikie gang. Tim calls for the duty officer and asks to be moved, but Sergeant O’Connell just smiles. He tells us to get used to the company because if we keep behaving the way we are, we’ll be spending a lot more time with people like them. 

​

I don’t know how long we sit in that smelly cell or how long we're subjected to threats and innuendo, but it must be hours since we were brought in. We’re scared, hungry, and I’m sure, like me, Ian and Tim are wondering why no one's come to bail us out. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen? 

​

Finally, a while after Tim’s father turned up to collect him, Sergeant O’Connell calls my name. I give Ian an encouraging pat on the shoulder and, ignoring Bull’s parting jeers, leave that hellhole.

​

I’ve never been so happy to see Dad. He, however, barely acknowledges me. His expression tells me I’m in a load of trouble. I try to apologize, but he cuts me off with a terse, "later, Adam." As we wait for my wallet, belt, and shoelaces to be returned, I remember with a shudder just how scared I’d been when they were taken from me. Trouble or not, I'm grateful Dad came to get me.

​

The car ride home is silent and awkward. Mom’s waiting on the doorstep when we arrive, and it’s obvious she’s been crying. I feel like shit when I meet her gaze. She wraps her arms around me, and I squeeze back tightly.

​

“I… I’m sorry, Mom. I choke on the lump in my throat as I gratefully accept her love.

​

“Shower, Adam. I’m about to serve dinner.” Mom tells me, and Cait, who’d also been crying, holds my hand as I make my way upstairs.

​

“Your face…” she touches my cheek. “You look awful, and you’re bleeding. What happened?”

​

“Not now,” I answer, feeling her watch me collect clean clothes. “I’m fine. It was just a little fight.” 

​

“You were locked up, Adam!”  Her eyes swim with fresh tears. 

​

“Just for a little while,” I say.

​

“But you were in jail. I don’t want my brother to be a criminal.”

​

“I’m not. It was just a stupid mistake.”

​

“Dad’s mad,” she warns as if I don’t already know.

​

“I know.”

​

“You’re going to be grounded.”

​

“I know.”

​

“At least then you won’t come home smelling like sex!”  She says, her tone accusing.

​

“Cait! What do you know about—”

​

“I’m not stupid, Adam,” she cuts me off.

​

“You’d better not—” I warn, worried about how she knows about such things.

​

“Adam, hurry up. Don’t you think you’ve inconvenienced your mother enough today?” Dad interrupts from the doorway. Yep, he’s mad all right.

​

He makes me sweat that night and the next day before calling me into his study. Mom’s already there and listens solemnly as Dad lectures me on how useless and dangerous fighting is. Finally, he threatens to take me to the morgue to view the bodies of other stupid teenagers who ended up there because of their reckless behavior. It's not only reckless; it’s also criminal, he says and asks how I felt sitting in that cell.

​

I don’t lie. I admit how scared I’d been and also that I’d realized, while sitting there, just how stupidly I’d behaved. Dad asks how we got into the fight, so I explain. 

​

“Loyalty's admirable, but blind loyalty is foolish, Adam. You can’t just follow your friends without question. You have to think for yourself. Be your own person,” Dad says. I hastily agree, telling him that I’ve realized that. I apologize to him and Mom again. Dad’s eyes soften as I speak, and I’m grateful that they both still see some good in me.

​

“Son, you’re smart. Clever beyond your years, and your mother and I don’t want you to waste your life. You need to think of the consequences of your actions—not only yours but of those around you too. Do you get what I'm saying? You can’t adopt a pack mentality when you’re with your friends. I don’t want to choose your friends or stop you from seeing the boys you hang around with. They’re good kids at heart, but stealing hubcaps is wrong. It’s a crime, not just some teenage prank. And fighting? It’s dangerous, stupid, and criminal. People turn to violence because they can’t express their feelings or sort out differences like reasonable human beings. We expect better from you.” 

​

“Tell me what’s really going on, Adam?” Mom asks. I’m about reply with my standard ‘nothing’s wrong,' but I owe my parents the truth.

​

“I don’t know, Mom. I’m just so mad all the time, and when that guy punched Ian, I saw red."

​

“I’m making an appointment for you to see Ariane. Your anger’s understandable, Adam. Battling teenage hormones is unsettling enough, but you’re also struggling to deal with your past. You can’t do it on your own, sweetheart. You need help.”

​

I open my mouth to protest but Dad intervenes. "This isn’t a negotiation, Son. You'll go to therapy," he tells me. "You’re also grounded for a month. You’ll go to school and come straight home. No detours and no excuses. You can have friends over after two weeks. Only two at a time. And no outings. Is that clear?”

​

I accept my punishment. I know I’ve gotten off lightly. The next day at school, I learn that Alan’s been grounded for two weeks. Ian and Matt are each grounded for a week and have also lost their allowances—Matt, for two weeks, and Ian, for one. Once my ban on having friends over ends, Matt spends a lot of time with me, even on weekends. I’d expected him to go out with the other guys, but he seems happy to hang out at home with me. 

​

Cait’s around all the time, too. I’ve repeatedly told her to leave us alone and find something else to do, but Matt surprises me again by insisting that he doesn’t mind her company. I notice that she blushes a lot around him, and he treats her nicer than even the girls he dates. He must miss having a baby sister, I decide.

​

The worse thing about being grounded is that I don’t get to see Megan again. I’d been looking forward to the things she promised we’d do, but in the last week of my house arrest, Matt tells me she’s gone home.  So, I'm back to my own hand; but at least now I have something real to fantasize about.