“Holy shit!” My voices strangles in my throat as my toes curl in pleasure.
After a couple of dances, in which she grew bolder and bolder, and I, harder and harder, Megan led me to a bedroom and locked the door. She’s nineteen, I learned while dancing and clearly knows a lot more about sex than I do. Right now, for the first time ever, a hand other than mine is wrapped around my shaft. She gathers leaking moisture from the head and slowly twists her hand. Nothing I’ve felt or ever done before has felt this fucking good. I let out another garbled sound as she tightens her grip.
“Let go, Megan encourages, her lips swallowing my panting breath. “I’m gonna rock your world,” she promises, her words and rough, honeyed voice making me twitch. She does things with her tongue, unimaginable things, and I'm muttering incoherently as she slowly moves down my body.
“What …” my words choke off as something much better, wetter, and hotter than her hand engulfs me. “Fuck! I curse as I raise my chest to take in the sight of her mouth wrapped around me. I grit my teeth, praying, 'Please, please, please don’t let me embarrass myself,' as I struggle for control.
She releases with a plopping sound, smiles seductively and then, holding my gaze, lowers her head to lick from base to tip—deliberately and slowly. ‘Oh, oh,” I moan, because, apparently, I’ve forgotten how to form full sentences.
“You taste so good,” Megan swirls her magic tongue around my head and brings me to the brink only to stop and then start again.
I’ve already lost the ability to speak when, suddenly, she relaxes her throat and swallows me to the hilt. White-hot heat sears and rips its way through my body, and I moan long and loud 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 try to 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, sweetie. See you in the morning.”
I sigh, relieved that she didn't come out; didn't see my rumpled shirt 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. She wasn’t shy about showing me exactly what she likes. I grin at the memory of her husky moans 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 grinning like a fool?” Cait asks from my bedroom door.
“Shhh!” I signal, pointing to our parents’ room before pushing 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 making my way to the bathroom.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accuses me.
“You smell like something else too.”
“People were smoking.”
“Did Matt smoke?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Were there girls there?” she demands, ignoring my question
“It was a party, Caitlin. There were guys and girls.” I open the bathroom door.
“Why do you want to know?” I turn to look at her.
“Just asking,” she mutters and walks away, looking upset. I should go and ask what’s wrong, but I need to shower and brush my teeth before Mom comes upstairs. It can wait until morning, I decide.
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 increasingly growing shaft. Realizing that Mom, and possibly Cait, could still be wandering around, I quickly lock my door. And then, remembering Alan’s embarrassing story about how his mother questioned him about stains on his sheets over breakfast one morning, I grab a discarded t-shirt before returning to bed.
I stifle a groan, my hand moving ever faster, fueled by the memory of soft lips and a warm, wet mouth. My body stiffens, and my toes curl, digging 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, when leaving The Hangout, Mitch Jones and his friends accost us.
“Where are my fuckin' hubcaps!” he gets right in Ian's face. Ian grins, silently challenging him 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 goads.
“What did you fuckin' do with them?” Mitch shoves Ian’s shoulder. Ian grabs his shirtfront.
“Take your fucking hands off me! He gives Mitch and hefty shove. Mitch retaliates by smashing his fist into Ian’s gut, then kicks him while he’s still bent over, winded. He’s about to do it again, but I punch him on the side of the head, and, before I know it, we’re a tangle of fists, arms, and legs. I vaguely notice that people have stopped to watch, 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 man who’d ever walked into our apartment to hurt Eleanor or frighten me.
“Go, Thorne!” Matt yells as I’m straddling one of Mitch’s friends, my hands wrapped around his neck. I glance up to see him bend over another guy, pulling both of his arms up behind his back. Matt’s bleeding above his eye, and I suddenly realize I can taste blood. Either my nose or lip’s bleeding too.
I grin back at Matt, and the guy I’m pinning down lands a blow to my shoulder. I punch him in the face, and I’m about to hit him again, when, suddenly, someone drags me away. I turn, swinging, only to be confronted by Sergeant O’Connell.
“I’d think before you do that, son,” he warns, and I quickly lower my arm, the fight leaving me as I look around to see several police officers surrounding our bloodied, bedraggled group.
“Fuck!” Matt yells as he,too, 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 yells as he’s led away with Mitch. “Shut it,” an officer tells him and roughly shoves him into a police car. Matt, Alan, and I are squashed into the back of another. We’re quiet; our adrenaline-charged high disappeared along with our bravado when the doors slam shut on us. Me, I’m worried because as good as it felt to land those punches and even take some in return, I can’t help feeling ashamed at the thought of how much I’ve let my family down.
At the precinct, I find myself in a cell with Ian and one of Mitch’s friends, 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 our names are. He’d make any one of us ‘pretty pussies’ shout his name, which he says is Bull. He leers and says he hopes one of us ends up as his cellmate. I cringe, feeling a combination of fear and disgust. Not that I care about people’s sexual orientation, but 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 charge up a couple of the other guys, who join in. They look like members of a bikie gang or something. Tim calls for the duty officer and asks to be moved, but Sergeant O’Connell just smiles. He says 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; 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 Ian and Tim are wondering, like me, why our families haven’t come to bail us out. Isn’t that what’s is 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 taunts, leave that hellhole.
I’ve never been so grateful and pleased 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 I wait for my wallet, belt, and shoelaces to be returned, I remember with a shiver, just how scared I’d been when they were taken from 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 lower than a snake’s belly when I meet her gaze. She wraps her arms around me, and I squeeze back tightly.
“I… I’m sorry, Mom, I whisper, nearly choking on the lump in my throat as I gratefully accept her love.
“Go and shower, Adam. I’m about to serve dinner.” Mom doesn't acknowledge my apology, and Cait, who’d also been crying, takes my hand as I make my way upstairs.
“Your face…” she touches my cheek. “You look terrible, and you’re bleeding. What happened?”
“Not now,” I answer, sensing her watching me while I collect clean clothes.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “It was just a little fight.”
“Adam, you were locked up!” 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, I won’t be. It was just a stupid mistake.”
“Dad’s mad at you,” she says as if I don’t already know.
“You’re going to be grounded.”
“Well, at least then you won’t come home smelling like sex!” Her mouth twists into a grimace.
“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 for one day?” Dad asks from the doorway. Yep, he’s mad all right.
He makes me sweat that night and the next day before he calls me into his study after dinner. Mom’s already there and listens solemnly as Dad lectures me on how useless and dangerous fighting is. He threatens to take me down to the morgue to view the bodies of other stupid teenagers who ended up there because of the same reckless behavior. He says it's not only reckless; it’s also criminal and asks how I felt sitting in that jail cell.
I don’t lie. I tell him 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 being blindly loyal is foolish, Adam. You can’t just follow your friends. You have to think for yourself; be your own person,” he says. I readily agree, telling him that I’d realized that myself. I apologize to him and Mom once more. Dad’s eyes soften as I speak, and I’m grateful that they both still see some redeeming qualities in me.
“Son, you’re smart. Smart beyond your years. Your mother and I don’t want to see you waste your life away. You need to think of the consequences, not only of your actions but also of those around you. Do you understand what I mean? You can’t adopt a pack mentality when you’re out with your friends. I don’t want to dictate you who you should be friends with 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; don’t mistake it for some teenage prank. And fighting? It’s dangerous, stupid, and criminal. People resort to violence do because they can’t articulate their feelings or sort out differences like reasonable human beings. We expect better from you.”
“Tell me what’s really going on with you?” Mom asks. “You’re not getting into fights simply because your friends are.” I’m about to brush her off with my standard response of ‘nothing’s wrong,' but I owe my parents the truth.
“I don’t know, Mom I’m just so angry 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. You’re a teenage boy battling hormones, and that’s unsettling enough, but you’re also struggling to come to terms with your past. You can’t do it on your own, sweetheart. You need help.”
I open my mouth to protest. "This isn’t a negotiation, Son. You'll go to therapy,” Dad intervenes. “You’re also grounded for a month. You’re to go to school and come straight home. No detours and no excuses. You can have friends over after two weeks, but no more than 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 lost their allowances—Matt for two weeks, and Ian for one. Once my ban on having friends over is lifted, Matt spends a lot of time with me, even weekends. I’d expected him to go out with Ian, Alan, and his other friends, 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, find something else to do, but Matt surprises me, yet 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 meet up with 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.