Lord of the Phones

This is retardedly long. But I love it =]

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Marcy tells me not to use the phone chat rooms, but I just can't help it, I guess. I'm hiding away in my room and using up the phone line for hours, running the bill into the hundreds because, hey, these things aren't free.

There's something about anonymity though. About knowing the people on the other end have no idea your name or age or race or sex. All they know about you is what you tell them, and some nights I tell them the truth. I say, my name is Charlie, I'm twenty years old, and very boring to look at. Other nights, I pitch my voice higher, and tell them I'm Lacy, and I'm only thirteen, and that's when the older men really start chatting me up. I've never been requested for a private conversation more than when I pretend to be Lacy.

But I don't mind that. I don't mind pretending I'm still in middle school, that I just turned thirteen and have no experience with boys—something that always delights my older callers. I don't mind pretending to explore my pre-pubescent, female, body on the phone, hearing their lusty breaths, following their devious commands.

“Does that feel good? When you stick your fingers in your twat like that?” And I squeal a little and say, “yes, oh yes, it feels so good...”

Sometimes it's funny, but most of the time I'm just as worked up as they are—excited by their whispers, I sit there telling them I'm playing with my pussy when really I'm stroking my dick. I bet it'd make them crazy if they knew...

I never tell them, though, and hours go by, and after a while I get exhausted or bored or Marcy comes home and I have to stop so she doesn't find out what exactly I talk about in these phone chat rooms.

I was pretending to be Lacy, who's mostly shy, but she still speaks up when the time calls for it. Sweet and a little sassy—the perfect little cocktease. Someone asks my name and once I give my false information I'm requested for a private conversation. No surprise there, I suppose.

He tells me his name is Jack, and it brings to mind images of a thirteen-year-old red-headed sadist on an island full of boys. I can't help but think it's a fake name, just like mine, and I confirm that when he tells me something about his friend Ralph, and I accidentally correct him and say, “Jack and Ralph were never friends,” and he laughs and ignores it.

Soon he's just like all the rest, asking if I'm alone—yes—if I've ever been kissed—of course not—if I wouldn't object to him showing me new things with my body. He purrs it like some kind of tiger and just the implications of his voice send a shiver up my spine. I can already tell he's going to be a good one. I'm already getting hard by the sound of his voice.

He tells me to take my shirt off and I set the phone down to comply. When I pick it up again he chuckles and asks if it's cold and I say yes. Then he asks if my nipples are standing up and, playing innocent, I giggle and confess, as if embarrassed. He has me touching them experimentally, he tells me to rub them at first and after a few minutes he tells me to pinch them, squeeze them, and I do as I'm told.

I'm surprised when I let out a little moan. I'm usually completely in control of my voice. I freeze up, not sure how girly that sounded. It probably wasn't very convincing.

But Jack doesn't say anything about it. We move on to our next conquest. He tells me to run my hands all over my body—over my tits and my stomach and my hips and thighs. He asks me how it feels down there—I tell him it feels like I'm going to pee but I know I'm not. Of course, I'm only assuming this is how girls feel. I'm lucky enough to have a best friend like Marcy to get these embarrassing facts from. Right now there's a tightness between my legs, my erection is straining against the fly of my jeans and it almost hurts.

I hear him lick his lips audibly, shift a little, and there's a distinct sound in the background, and it turns me on so badly knowing he's whacking off because of me. I want to touch myself, too, but he hasn't told me to do it yet.

He tells me to take my pants off, but to leave my panties on, and within seconds I unbutton my jeans and kick them off faster than I ever have. My hand hovers over the tent in my boxers but I can't touch it, not yet, not until he tells me. I'm salivating thinking about what he's going to make me do next. He's taking his time, pausing for a long moment while he jerks his cock, and I hear him groan faintly.

I'm about to ask what's next when he speaks up. He tells me to rub myself down there, slowly, over my panties. He wants me to let go, he wants to hear what kind of noises I'll make and I giggle and lay back.

I gasp as high pitched as I can manage when my hand descends to my dick and I do as he tells me, rubbing my crotch as slow as I can manage, open palmed. I'm not really doing much more than rubbing the fabric of my boxers against the tip of my cock. But there's a fabulous wet spot seeping through my underwear and I'm almost embarrassed that some guy on the phone can do this to me with his voice. Maybe now I'll know how they feel when I do it to them.

I'm whimpering now, because it feels so fucking good, knowing that he's on the other end, listening to the noises I'm making and really getting off. And he doesn't know I'm a guy either. The secrecy is adding to that, the low vibrations of his voice in my ear, the almost quiet sound of him masturbating in the phone.

He doesn't sound too much older than I am. He probably isn't even thirty. Nearly all of the men I've been with are well over forty.

“What color are your panties?” he asks, almost breathless now.

“Ooh... they're white... and ahh... they're all... all wet now...” Which is true. I'm driving myself insane with this. He's driving me insane. I want to cum so badly—just reach into my boxers and jerk off as fast as I can.

He grunts and it makes me moan, but I try to cover it up with a smaller, more high pitched sound. He sounds close, but he speaks up again. “Have you ever... played with your asshole?”

I haven't, no, and I tell him as much, but what I keep from him is that now I really, really want to do it. He tells me to stick a finger in my mouth and suck on it—get it good and wet. Then he tells me to pull my panties down with my other hand and spread my legs—he's warning me to be careful so I don't hurt myself. He tells me to ease my finger in there and as I'm doing it I get this brief flash—an older, sadistic, red-headed king of an island knelt before me, pushing his wet finger into my ass.

Now I can't help it—I have to stroke my dick, doing it in time with the finger going in and out of my hole. “It f-feels... so good...”

“I wanna fuck you, Lacy,” he whispers lustily. Then he moans, and I hear his beating off speed up. He's really about to cum now. Which is good because I am, too.

“I wanna fuck your pussy so hard you bleed.”

I whine a little, “please... Jack...”

“... then I'm gonna turn you over and fuck your asshole so you won't be able to sit down for a fucking week...”

“Please...” After that we're both making small noises, and I've never heard anyone touch themselves with the ferocity Jack is over the phone. I wish I were there to see it. I wish I were the one doing it.

Then we're both cumming at the same time, my finger still lodged up my asshole, my whole body's quivering for this man's voice.

He goes to say something, but I'm so confused and embarrassed by the intensity of my own orgasm that I just hang up the phone and try to get my breathing under control.

As I'm washing up in the bathroom, I hear Marcy come home. Marcy, who's giggling and prattling on with someone else, and I'm glad I'm in the bathroom so I don't have to meet her half-drunk one-night fuck.

I stay in the shower much longer than I normally do, listening intently for the distinctive sound of Marcy locking her bedroom door, the silence that often falls in after she starts getting serious with whatever guy she brought home.

It makes me jealous.

But it's an unspoken rule we have between us. I've known Marcy since middle school, and now that we're both in college, it's only right we became roommates. But living together has its disadvantages. Things like me getting to know exactly how... slutty my best friend can be.

I don't know any of the guys she brings home, though. It could be the same guy. They could be going out and Marcy just hasn't told me yet.

I comb my hair with my fingers in the mirror, making faces at my own reflection for a while.

Marcy isn't like that, though. We're very close, like peas from the same pod and all that, so I don't think Marcy would keep something like that from me.

It's stupid to be bothered by it, though, so I pretend it doesn't bother me and just go to sleep.

Two weeks later finds me... newly fired. I had, until just very recently, worked at an auto shop, selling parts and stereos and accessories for cars, despite not knowing jack shit about them.

Which probably explains why I was fired.

But no matter, two days later, and I've landed myself a new job right down the street. A shitty cashier job in a cigarette outlet, all thanks to Marcy's nasty habit. It was pretty convenient that as soon as Marcy sent me down to get her some more cigarettes, Greta, the manager, was putting up a “Help Wanted” poster in the window. She hires me on the spot, quickly going into how wonderful the job is, how I'm going to like it. She says her son works here, too, but I probably won't meet him. The store is a one-man job, and Greta's going to train me for a while.

But that works for me. I don't need to meet anyone new.

I continue hooking up with guys on the phone chat rooms, but not with Jack, and it isn't the same. Maybe I'm losing interest now.

Marcy goes out like she does every Friday, and I'm so so so bored. I pick up the phone, idly thinking about doing a chat room, but I just want Jack to be there.

The last time I jacked off I was thinking about his voice. I'm just confused, I guess, that some stranger's voice could get to me that way.

I dial the number anyway, and flaunt myself as Lacy. I want to be Charlie, though. I want to be Charlie and I want to meet Jack, but that's beyond impossible.

I get a private chat shortly after joining a room. “Hey sweetie, you don't mind talking to a... slightly older guy do you?” Sadly, it's not Jack.

A giggle. “Of course not, you seem really fun.”

But I'm getting bored, and fast. I make up an excuse about my “mommy” wanting me off the phone, something about it being my bed time, and drop the room for a new one.

The way phone chat rooms work, though, is that you call one central number and then pick a room. And there's thousands of rooms to choose from, so when I join a different room there's about zero chance of anyone from the previous room knowing I was there.

This isn't the room I met Jack in, but a lot of regulars room hop like I do. I can only hope Jack does the same thing. I'm idling myself with thoughts of him looking for me, and after talking for just a minute or two I get requested for a private chat.

“Hey, Lacy. Remember me?” It's that voice, that deep, sweet, subconsciously seductive, voice that sends a shiver up my spine. I'm letting out a very small moan and I'm so embarrassed right now.

“J-jack?”

“You got it, sweetie. Why'd you hang up on me last time? I wanted your number, you know.”

I give him a well-placed, slightly bashful, little giggle. “Well, I... my mommy was coming home. I didn't want to get caught. I'm sorry.” I emphasize the apology with an audible pout.

Jack chuckles, and I can hear him shifting in his seat, the sound of keys clacking on a keyboard. He's probably at a computer. He's probably fooling around with pubescent girls on the internet, too, but he doesn't seem too preoccupied to me. But I suppose I should take away more of his attention. I want all of it.

I give him a little moan, sliding my free hand over my body. “I really liked what you had me do. It felt really good.”

“Mm. I'm just thinking about what you could be doing to me. Have you ever seen a naked boy before? When they're excited?”

I act flustered. “W-well, this one boy showed me his, umm, his thing at a birthday party.”

“Did he ask you to touch it?”

As he asks this I'm sliding my hand down to my erection, gripping myself hard. “Y-yeah.”

“Did you touch it? Did you like it, Lacy?”

Another nervous giggle. “It was all hard and it was r-really hot.”

“He ask you to do anything else with his thing?”

Oh what I wouldn't give to be doing that “anything else” with Jack's thing. I bite my lip to silence the groan ready to escape at the thought. “No, I didn't wanna. It was weird.”

I hear him hitch his breath and lean back in his chair. “Would you touch my thing, Lacy? I want you to touch it.”

“I wanna touch it, too. Is your thing really big? I've never seen a grown-up's before.”

I hear a distinctive smirk in his words. “I'm bigger than average. I wish you could see it for real, you'd be really impressed. I probably wouldn't be able to put it all the way in you without really hurting you.”

I huff a little, just to cover my erratic breathing while I stroke myself. “Hey, I'm a big girl, I could take it!”

“I would really like to be inside you, but I'd probably break you in half.” He's most likely just being full of himself. Still, the thought of a fully grown man inside a thirteen-year-old girl was pretty questionable. Even an average sized dick would be too big.

I don't dwell on it, though. Instead I imagine Jack's large cock buried in my ass, or buried in my mouth. At least I have enough experience with oral. I could show him a good time. I could really get him off.

“Would you put your fingers in my... my place?”

“Of course, Lacy. If that's what you want. I'll put my hands anywhere you want them. I'll put my mouth on your place, too. That feels really good. And you can put your mouth on my thing. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, that sounds really fun.”

The phone goes quiet for a long moment before Jack says anything.

“Are you touching yourself like last time?”

I try to act coy about it. “Maaaybe.” I squirm a little, let out a faked little girly moan. “Okay, I am. It feels so good, though. I was, uhh, I, err, was doing it in the b-bathtub. Is that bad?” The last part I whisper a little, trying not to sound too into it as I stroke myself hard and fast. I'm close. It's pathetic, but I'm so fucking close.

His own jerking off speeds up a little. “No, that's great. It feels really good in the tub, doesn't it?”

I let out a little squeal in confirmation. I'm going to cum fast.

“You have no idea what you're doing to me, Lacy.”

I have a good idea, but I don't think I should say that to him.

Him groaning into the phone sends me over the edge, and I'm almost surprised by how soon I finish, panting like a dog or something.

We're both quiet for a minute before Jack asks if we can trade numbers, so he doesn't have to look for me in the rooms. I feel my heart beating like crazy, like I really am some thirteen-year-old girl fussing over her first boyfriend.

But Jack isn't my boyfriend, and it hurts a little that I have to remind myself this. Just because he wants my phone number doesn't mean he wants to talk to me exclusively. He might just have a whole phone book full of little girls' numbers.

We keep talking even though the main event is over, and he asks me about school and my friends, where I live, the things I like. I have to make all of it up, and while it makes me extremely uncomfortable lying so blatantly I don't want our conversation to end.

And before I know it, it's almost two AM and Jack's the one who says he needs to get off the phone, he has work in the morning. He asks if its all right for him to call me after he's done work and I giggle and agree, my heart fluttering in my chest. The thought makes me hate myself a little, though. That just knowing he's going to call me makes me feel this way even though he thinks I'm a little girl.

Saying good-bye is awkward at best, and it seems like he doesn't want to hang up, either, but he finally does, finally consents to having to leave, having to get at least a little sleep before work.

It's Saturday afternoon. Marcy hasn't woken up yet, probably because she has some kind of major hang-over from the night before, which wouldn't entirely surprise me. I fell asleep before she came home, but her shoes are carelessly thrown by the front door, so I know she really did come home some time last night and I don't just think that because I know Marcy wouldn't stay out until the next day.

She's groggy when she comes out of her room, hair a mess, make-up smeared unattractively across her face. I just laugh a little at her while I get her some aspirin and a glass of water.

For the rest of the afternoon we hang out in the living room, watching TV and joking around. It feels like high school only Marcy's hung over and not as willing to horseplay with me as she used to be.

And it's just purely obscene luck that has Jack calling right as Marcy shuts the bathroom door. It's purely obscene luck we only have one phone in the whole apartment which saves me from worrying over whether Marcy might try to listen in on our conversation or not.

It's purely obscene luck that has Marcy telling me she's going to meet some of her friends from class for dinner, if that's alright with me, and it oh so is.

Tonight turns out nearly the same as last night went. Both me and Jack get off fairly quickly, and then the conversation switches to tamer topics. I ask him about his job and what he's doing. He says he works for his family's business, but that's it. He went to college, but dropped out before he graduated.

When I ask him how old he is, he hesitates before he says he's twenty-seven, and I'm not surprised. When I first heard his voice I pegged him around there. At the same time I'm relieved to know he's as old as I imagined.

We get off together again, this time at my insistence. Who knows when I'll be able to talk to Jack like this again. I'll need all the memories I can make, all the jerk-off material I can get for the time being.

When we're finished, I hear this smugness in his voice, and it just turns me on even more.

Marcy comes home after a while, demanding the phone so she can call home and I have to get off. Jack promises to call sometime next weekend and I agree that's perfect, although I leave out the reason is because I'll be busy with classes and work.

It becomes a quick pattern. Jack calls me, talks me through sex, asks me how my weeks been. We talk until we run out of things to say and then we sit on the phone quietly. That's fine with me. When it gets late he'll promise to call again later in the week, and when he hangs up I can't wait for the next time he calls. I can't stand thinking about him, about his voice, the things he says to me. He's driving me insane.

It's almost two months later when I first meet Greta's son, Billy.

Greta doesn't ever say much about him, and maybe I can conclude that she doesn't actually like him much, or isn't proud of him. She says he's a few years older than I am, and he's a giant. Well over six feet tall, she says. He hits his forehead on door frames a lot, and it's funny.

It's my day off, and Marcy's out of cigarettes again. Out of cigarettes and suffering from womanly cramps. So I indulge her and put on some clothes to go buy her some cigarettes.

Greta's son is working, and strangely enough, the first thing I notice about him isn't the flaming apple red hair sticking out on his head but the book he's studying on the counter.

From appearances, he doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd read regularly. He's just as tall as Greta says he is, and he's dressed all in black. From a distance he might look pretty normal. Well, as normal as one can be with hair that wildly red. Up closer, I can see he has a silver cross around his neck, and I've never seen so much metal in anyone's ears before, it's almost eerie.

I put my hand on the counter, feeling a little weird all of a sudden. “Hey, so you're Greta's son, aren't you?”

He looks up, frowns, and turns his book over to save his page. Lord of the Flies, I see. “Who're you?” I can't help but feel his voice sounds a little familiar, but that's just stupid. I've never met him before.

“Oh, err, uh, I'm Charlie. G-greta hired me like a month ago.” I put the cheesiest grin on my face for him.

He just frowns a little more. He'd probably be really handsome if he didn't make faces like that. He's telling me to fuck off with his eyes and I'm about ready to do just that. “Were you going to buy anything or did you just come to bother me?”

“No, no, I need a carton of ultra-light Milton's.”

He eyes me a little before getting the carton off the shelf behind him. He's tall enough to not have to stand up to do it, either. “You don't look like much of a smoker,” he comments idly as he rings me up.

I'm a little offended, but it's the truth anyway. “I'm not. I don't smoke. My roommate does. I'm just doing her a favor.” I hand him over the money, feeling a little smug at getting a discount on cigarettes. Marcy gave me enough for regular price. Guess who's going to pocket that extra five bucks?

“Well isn't she lucky?” He seems to sneer a little in his voice, handing my change back before going right back to his book.

“So, Lord of the Flies?” I don't even know why I'm trying to make conversation. He's obviously an asshole, and some kind of... goth or emo or whatever they are now. Totally not my kind of thing. “I haven't read that book since, like, high school.” I'm talking to him a little condescendingly, and he doesn't deserve it but I can't stop myself.

He doesn't look up, though. Just smirks a little. “Yeah, well it's my favorite book.”

“Yeah, okay.” There's a long strained pause and I feel awful for even trying to communicate with this guy. “Well see ya around.”

He doesn't say anything back as I leave.

I drop Marcy's cigarettes in her lap and she jumps because I guess she was napping on the couch when I came in. I throw myself down on the recliner and she stares at me.

“What's the matter with you?”

I sigh. Not entirely sure myself. I don't know what I was expecting. Did I think I could be Billy's friend? Was he supposed to be nice to me, at least, since Greta's so nice? Apples don't usually fall too far from the tree. And Billy definitely resembles a ripe red apple with that hair of his.

“It's nothing. Just something stupid.”

She rolls her eyes at me, going through opening her cigarettes and lighting one up before she speaks again. “Well if it's nothing you wouldn't be this riled up about it.”

And she's right. Marcy's always right about these things. “Well, I met Greta's son. And I just thought... I don't know. He's a total asshole. Totally not what I expected.”

She nods sagely and blows a stream of smoke through her nostrils. She only does that to annoy me because I told her it's a disgusting thing to do. “You mean the guy with that... freakish hair right? The goth kid that works there?”

“Yeah. I mean. Goths aren't usually nice anyway, right? So it's just... stupid. I think I'm more upset with myself.”

Marcy quirks a funny smile at me. “Well, don't let it get to you, you retard. What do you care anyway? It's not like you're working with him, right? You don't even see him.” She puffs her cigarette, flicks the stray ashes in the ashtray she pulled off the coffee table into her lap. “He is pretty cute though.”

My face heats up. “What? Yeah right. Goths are weirdoes. He freaks me out just looking at him. And have you seen his EARS? He probably sets off metal detectors all over the place.”

She snorts with her cigarette between her lips. “I bet that's not the only place he's pierced.”

The mental images send me reeling, and I'm fascinated that it's both a thought I want to keep and one I'd rather quickly forget. Maybe his navel, or his nipples or his...

And it excites me, because it's so foreign, and something about him is very attractive even though he's an asshole. Something about him reminds me of Jack in a way, and I wonder if Jack looks like him. Like Billy.

But Jack doesn't sound like that kind of person. Jack sounds like he's more responsible than to have a thousand piercings in his ears and maybe even in less modest places. Jack sounds like he's average in looks, maybe average height, not much taller than me. Brown hair, maybe blue or green eyes. Like his wardrobe isn't made up of all black and freaky silver chains and things like that. Jack probably wears polos and jeans like an average guy.

We don't talk about those sorts of things, though. He's always asking me what I'm wearing, but I never bother to return the favor.

“He's probably gay, too,” Marcy says, and she looks like she's laughing in her eyes. She's just too good of a friend to laugh in my face.

“Yeah. I don't care. I'd never even try to get with a goth or whatever he is. He's creepy.” With that I stand and leave. I don't want to have this conversation with Marcy. It's bad enough when she asks me about my love life, why I'm not dating someone from campus, why it looks like I'm not even trying. I don't want to make things worse talking about someone who vaguely reminds me of Jack, when thinking about Jack makes me want to talk to him. Thinking about Jack makes me squirm remembering the things I've done for him over the phone. The things I've said for the sake of him.

It would make Marcy blush with shame just to know, I'm sure of it.

Jack calls later that night. He sounds a little different, though. Just a little off, and I'm hard-pressed to figure it out because I can't just ask. Lacy would be too oblivious to a subtle difference like this.

But we go through our routine. We talk a little, but the main reason for him calling is because he wants us to have phone sex. Before I really think about it, I'm finger-fucking myself while he groans, whispering things about how he wants to fuck me hard, how he wants to cum inside me. He says he just wants me.

He says he wants to meet me.

He asks right as I cum and I have to bite my lip and shut myself up for a long minute, and I can hear him growing nervous.

“Would that be okay?”

“Y-yeah.” But it's not. It's most definitely certainly not okay. I'm not Lacy. I'm not thirteen. I'm not even a girl.

But he asks me where I live and I tell him the truth, and he's surprised because he lives here too, and knowing that has my heart beating wildly, my brain is buzzing, throbbing. I think I might be dizzy but I'm not going to stand up to test that.

He makes a plan for us to meet at the mall. “After school,” he says, even though I'm not doing anything at all tomorrow.

“H-how will I know it's you?” It's an innocent question. I'm going crazy with anticipation. What will he look like? I'll get to know tomorrow. If I could work up the courage to at least go check him out. He'd never know it was me. He'd never recognize me because I'm not Lacy.

“Well, I told you, I'm really tall. But I'll probably recognize you first.” He chuckles. “Will you be with your mom? Or will you come alone?”

Will I go alone? Should I drag Marcy along? Should I even go in the first place?

This is silly. This is outrageous and scary and stupid, and I already think I know who he is and that thought is what's even worse. I don't want it to be true. I don't want this to be true.

I don't want Jack to be Billy.

Because if Jack is really Billy, then this newfound crush I have on the guy, while suddenly having a good reason for existing, is for nothing. Billy likes little girls if he's Jack. If Jack's him.

Either way, I'm resolved now. I have to go. I have to see for my own two eyes. I know I'm in no danger.

It's settled. I'll be alone. Well, really, Lacy will be alone. At least that's what I told Jack. But Jack doesn't know Lacy won't be there at all.

I'm going to bed feeling nervous and sick all at once and I can't sleep at all.

This is utterly ridiculous. I'm getting myself all worked up over a pedophile, who might also be some nasty goth kid that I don't care about. Either way, I've invested too many emotions into nothing. I knew from the start that nothing was going to come of this. Jack wasn't going to turn out suddenly into grown men like me, not when he has thirteen-year-old girls like Lacy after his cock.

If anything, the guilt I feel is the worst. Jack deserves this. He deserves it for being sick, doing sick things to little girls with too much privacy on their side.

And what if there were other girls like Lacy? Others that Jack's met, others that he's probably taken to a hotel somewhere to deflower and throw away?

I'm angry and sad and elated all at once and maybe I'll just explode and not have to worry about this shit anymore.

I show up earlier than we agreed, just so I can look like I didn't get here to see Jack. I buy a soda, too, so I can sit in the food court and at least look like I'm not waiting on someone. Because I'm not.

Just maybe... Jack won't show up either.

But I'm holding my breath as I see Billy show up. He's dressed a little more modestly now. A t-shirt and jeans. But his hair still makes him stick out like a sore thumb. And suddenly he's looking at me. We lock eyes, for a long, long, moment, and he glares at me like I've done something wrong by looking at him.

Then he looks away. Walks away.

He's not the only tall guy in the mall, that's for sure. He doesn't even look the type to prey on little girls. I imagine Jack looks a little bit sorrier than Billy. He'd have to look pathetic to be a pedophile, right? Maybe I'm assuming too much.

I sigh. This is stupid. Even if Jack shows up I won't know it's him. I won't be able to confirm it's him.

I throw away my cup, and as I'm turning around someone grabs hold of my wrist. And it isn't a friendly grab, either. My eyes shoot up.

It's Billy. It's Billy, and he's crushing my wrist in his fingers. But I don't pull away. I'm too afraid.

“You're Lacy aren't you?” Standing, he's a good foot taller than me, I have to look way up to meet his eyes when we're this close.

I don't know how to answer, I can't answer. I already got what I came for. I know now, Billy is Jack. Jack is Billy.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hear myself sneer, and I try to pull away but his grip tightens on my wrist. I'm afraid he's going to break it or something. I'm afraid I'm going to just faint in fear. Isn't anyone seeing this now? Wondering why some freakishly tall goth is cornering a kid like me?

He leans down. Mouth level with my ear. “Do you want to be a little girl or something? Is that why you did it?” And he sounds more hurt than I expect him to be. Does he think I was just fucking around with him?

“Get off me.”

He straightens himself out, squeezing my wrist harder for a second, like a warning. Like he's not going to let go. “Don't make a scene or I'll break your wrist.” And I don't know if he actually can do that, if he's strong enough, but I'm not going to find out.

He leads me through the food court and out of the mall, out into the parking lot. My heart's doing back-flips in my throat and I think I already know what's going to happen.

I've been beaten up before. For being gay. For some snarky thing I said to a bully. I know what it feels like to be thrown to the ground. I've broken ribs before. Black eyes. Broken fingers. I just pray he's not going to kill me for all of this.

We stop far out in the parking lot, behind a pickup truck, and he leans me against the passenger door and I wince as he moves in, waiting for that first blow.

Something else entirely happens, though. His other hand, his hand that's not crushing my wrist, lifts my chin up, but I'm still not opening my eyes. I'm still not going to look at him.

There's a long frightening pause before Billy leans down into my face. Before Billy starts kissing me.

I don't respond. I don't understand this game that he's playing. Am I supposed to kiss him back? Is he going to... do something else to me before he hurts me?

He squeezes my jaw and pulls away for a second. “Open your mouth.” He commands me, quick and brutal. It's blunt, but it's buried with other unspoken commands. He's asking me to comply.

At least, to this, I do. Because when I open my mouth for him he releases my face and I can focus on my wrist while he puts his tongue in my mouth. I'm ashamed I'm responding now. It's small at first. I don't want to seem eager. Not when he's just going to hurt me later.

It's just my tongue at first, brushing against his as it moves around my mouth, but then I close my lips, as well, work them against his, and when he pulls his tongue away I suck on his top lip, leaning in for more.

My eyes are closed. So when he slams his fist against the truck, right next to my head, I jump considerably. He just laughs at me, his hand moving to comb through my hair while he kisses me more.

That's when I realize I have a free hand. I could take him off guard. I could punch him, try to run. It's true his legs are considerably longer than mine. He could probably catch me.

I know this but my hand curls into a fist, and when I punch him in the cheek he's stunned enough to let me go and I take off for the mall again. If I can just get near a few people. I just need to not be alone with him.

Just as I thought, though, I don't get very far when he comes back to his senses and chases me, grabs me by my hair and yanks me back.

I'm struggling whole-heartedly now, but it doesn't matter. He takes up both of my wrists in one of his hands, leads me the short distance back to the pick-up and pins me there, grinding my bones together. He's not being nice now.

“Now why would you do that? Did you think you could get away?” He's mocking me. Mocking me with his voice while he mocks me with his body, pressing pointedly on my hands, his mouth working its way across my chin and neck.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a reflection of light, and it's him pulling a pocket knife out, he's opening it, holding it to my throat. When my breath hitches he laughs at me. “So now you're scared?” He sounds incredulous, pressing the tip of the blade against my cheek.

I can't control my breathing anymore. It's just these fast, shallow, little breaths. In out in out in out. I feel like I'm not breathing at all.

Oh god I'm going to cry. “P-p-please.”

He slides his knife down my cheek, dropping the tip to my chest, and he watches as it moves up and down with my shaky breathing. He's smirking. “Please, what?”

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. What I'm thinking. I'm a panicked mess. A blur. I'm frozen. “A-a-anything.” With that I let out my first choked sob. I shudder.

“Anything?”, he questions, that knife sliding further down my body. His mouth is on my neck again. His mouth is on my neck, and his other hand, with the pocket knife, is running up my shirt. At first he's just touching me, but then he brings his hand down again, pushing the blade up through the middle of my t-shirt and I have a single second of clarity to feel angry that he's cutting up my favorite red Lucky Charms shirt.

He turns the blade on it's side, running it down my chest, then teasingly over a nipple. I don't want him to cut me. I hold my breath, but it's hard to do when I can't breath in the first place. And all I can think to do is repeat over and over in my head: Oh god please, god, please. Begging, even though I know nothing will come of it. I'm trapped. He's going to do whatever he wants with me.

And what's even scarier than this perverted psycho with a knife is that I can't entirely say I don't want this either. Deep, deep, down inside it's what I want, what I wanted to happen as soon as I connected Jack to Billy. I wanted Billy to recognize me. I wanted Billy to hold me down. I want him to have his way with me and hurt me. Use me.

There's a familiar pressure between my legs. I'm so unbelievably disgusted in myself.

Billy closes his knife. One-handed. Slips it back in his pocket, and leads me around to the bed of the truck where he picks up a roll of duct tape.

I swallow hard, wanting to plead no... no. I can't open my mouth, and I'm so fucking passive when he puts my hands behind my back and wraps up my wrists in duct tape and pushes me into the truck bed. Is he going to do this here? In the middle of a parking lot, where anyone could just drive by and see?

His mouth is back on my throat, both hands pushing away the ruins of my t-shirt so his fingers can feel up my chest and stomach. He pinches my nipples, hard, and bites my throat when I gasp, teeth digging deep into my skin like he's trying to eat me or kill me like an animal.

He pinches my nipples again, and I buck up against him, though I don't know if I'm doing it because I want to buck him off or if... if I'm trying to get more contact with him.

Either way, he moves his mouth down, sucking and licking my collar bone while his fingers tear at my chest and now he's pulling and squeezing my nipples and it hurts but I don't want him to stop. Every time I make a noise, every time I squirm, his teeth find purchase on my skin and I'm aching all over.

His hands move down my body, catching me by the hips while he moves his mouth to where his hands once were, and he bites me where ever his teeth can catch my skin, right down to one of my nipples and before he closes his mouth around it I squirm a little more, try to edge away from him. “Don't.” His lips close around my nipple, tongue just barely toying with it. “Stop!”

He pauses for a moment, then looks up. I see his lips curl up into a devious smirk. “Don't stop?” But that's not what I meant at all, and I'm so frustrated at being misunderstood, having my words thrown together incorrectly. I buck hard at him, trying to ignore that now my eyes are watering badly and I won't be able to fight off crying much longer.

He pushes my hips down hard, chewing on my nipple, sucking on it, licking it.

I'm crying now. It hurts so badly, all over, but I still feel the definite press of my erection against the inside of my jeans. Even though it's sick. It's wrong. I shouldn't be enjoying this. I shouldn't like being tied up and abused, and especially here, in someone's truck bed where anyone could see.

One of his hands starts palming my erection. He looks up at me. “Well, what do we have here? You like this?” He makes a point to lean back down and flick his tongue over my nipple, which now I can see is red and raw. And it's throbbing, too. Painfully, even though he isn't touching it anymore. I hiss.

His hand on my dick, which was gentle at first, is grinding into me now. His mouth moves up to mine and he's kissing me again. Softly, chastely. He doesn't linger too long. Probably because he thinks I'll bite him or something.

He stops everything then. Both hands going to unbuckle my belt, not even bothering to yank it free before he nearly tears my jeans off. My boxers follow that shortly and I don't have time to fight back as he turns me over on my stomach.

How humiliating. How awful. That I'm laying in this dirty truck bed, and I feel my erection sliding into a groove in the bottom of the truck before Billy picks up my hips and pushes my legs as far apart as my pants allow.

I'm shaking with sobs. I hate this. I hate Billy, I hate those phone chat rooms.

I hate myself. I'm letting this happen without a fight at all. I knew it was coming, I knew he would do this. And I'm hard. I'm enjoying it. I want it.

Billy reaches over me and fishes around in a toolbox before producing a vaguely familiar little tube and I know it's some kind of lubricant for car parts and there's no way I want that shit in my body but I don't have much of a choice.

His hand on my ass makes my erection pulse, and it jumps when he slaps me unexpectedly. Then I hear him pop the cap off the stuff he has, squirting it on his hands and then he pushing his fingers in my body and I can't help that image, that first time I touched myself there and I imagined Jack between my legs and now it really his him. A red-headed, sadistic tyrant. The king of the island, or at least of this pick-up truck. It makes me moan a little. His fingers just slip right inside my body.

Then he laughs at me. “You really were playing with yourself, here, weren't you?”

I want to go hide in a fucking hole or something.

He gets up on his knees and leans far over me, his mouth hot against my ear. “I hope I don't break you. I told you I'm big.” But he doesn't give me a chance to process that. He's pushing himself inside me and oh god oh god oh fuck

Anything I've done to myself doesn't even begin to cover for how fucking huge he really is, and even with all the lube he's put between us, it's still a tight fit.

It's slow going at first but he rams into me, pushes into me as far as he can go and I'm so full so so...

He's groans a little, nibbling on my earlobe. “Fuck, I'm all the way in.” He whispers it the way someone might whisper 'I love you'.

He stays put for a long moment, and I'm afraid he's just going to sit there forever before he finally pulls back, just a little, and thrusts back in.

And I can't complain, because this fullness, this tightness I'm feeling feels good, and he's sliding a hand down my side, across my stomach, and he's encircling my dick, he's jerking me off while he fucks me from behind and then something happens inside me and I can't explain it just that oh god my whole body's shaking with the effort to feel that again.

I start struggling against him, but I guess he thinks I'm trying to get away and he buries his hand in my hair and presses my face into the floor, squeezes my dick hard. “Don't fucking move,” he threatens. But after that he sits up more, the hand on my head sliding down my body where he grabs hold of my hip.

Stars are exploding behind my eyes. I don't know what's happening. I just know I'm so fucking alive with this pleasure and he's giving it to me and I hurt and ache all over but I feel so good and I want more, more of Billy, more of this sensation.

And it's not very long until I'm cumming hard and fast in his hand, and I guess that's sending him over the edge too because he grunts and slumps against my back and doesn't move for what seems like forever.

He eventually pulls out of me and I can only lay there pathetically while he straightens himself up before he pulls out his pocket knife and cuts the duct tape around my wrists.

With my hands back, at least, I bring myself up to my knees and I'm embarrassed I'm trembling still while I set about getting myself at least slightly presentable. Pulling my pants and boxers back up, buckling my belt.

“You were great,” he says, and I'm so disgusted so ashamed so everything I just sit there and bury my face in my hands and cry a little.

After a minute he gets up from the truck bed. “Did you drive?”

“No.”

“Walk?”

“Yeah.”

“C'mon. Tell me where you live and I'll take you home.”

Getting out of the truck bed was a feat in itself because I'm hurting so much, all over, and I feel so weak. I nearly fall on my face trying to jump out, but as soon as I stumble Billy grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me, leads me to the passenger door. I keep myself as close to the door as I can manage. As far away from Billy as I can manage.

He closes up the truck bed on his way around, and then gets in the driver's side. I tell him where I live and he remarks that it's a lot closer to where we work than he thought.

“I'm going to call the police as soon as I get a chance,” I tell him.

He smirks a little, eyes on the road. “No you won't.”

The worst part is he's telling the truth. Maybe he only took advantage of me because he figured no man wants to go to the police and tell them they've been violated by another man. And I don't think I can tell anyone the entire truth in the first place. I'd have to start with the phone chat rooms. With how I posed as Lacy just to lure pedophiles in, and as my luck would have it, one of those pedophiles lived nearby and wanted to meet Lacy.

I set myself up for this. There's absolutely no other way to see it. I knew what was coming and fell into it willingly. Billy only did this to me because I let him do this to me. I wanted it. Maybe Billy knows I wanted it.

He pulls up in front of my building, and when I open the door Billy says he'll call me later and I freeze for a second, terrified thinking about what he could mean saying something like that.

Wasn't it over now? He fucked me. He got what he wanted from me. Did he think I'd let him do it again?

... Did I want that?

I slam his passenger side door on my way out, not giving him a good-bye as I storm up into the building.

I'm lucky Marcy's not home because I know I look like shit right now and all I want to do is wash all this off me and go to sleep.

Two weeks pass. The phone rings a few times where whoever's calling hangs up on Marcy as soon as she says hello, and I have a feeling it's Billy.

Marcy's seen the marks on my wrists, and the ugly blackish brown bruise on my neck that Billy left from biting me, but she hasn't said anything yet. She's just given me funny looks, and maybe that's even worse than questions because that means she knows what happened.

What she hasn't seen is how bruised up my chest is. My hips as well. Two weeks later, and everything still aches hard but at least the bruises are fading.

Greta fretted over it all when she saw it, and when I told her I was fine she said something about my girlfriend being too rough. I almost snapped at her, but maybe she didn't need to know that it was her own fucking son that did this to me. Against my will.

I might have to quit soon. Just sitting here in this place makes me think of him, and it smells a bit like him, and thinking about him and smelling him makes me remember every little detail of that day. And remembering it makes me remember how much I liked it and how much I hate myself for liking it.

And when I shift in my seat my t-shirt rubs against my abused nipple and I can't suppress a tiny moan and I'm so fucking glad I'm alone right now.

I feel around under the counter and come up with Billy's book. Lord of the Flies. The spine is abused beyond recognition. I should destroy it. Just to get back at him. But I'm not strong enough to do that and so instead I open it up and start reading.

I'm only a few pages in when the bell above the door jangles, and I look up ready to greet a customer but it's just the last person I want to see ever.

I grimace at him, and I see his expression slip into something like... worry. But what's he so worried about? He got what he wanted, right?

I ignore him, looking back down at the book that belongs to him.

Billy slams his hand down on the counter and I jump and look up at him, not sure what to say.

“Why haven't you been answering the phone when I call?”

I don't say anything. My mind is going fuzzy. Why would I answer the phone when he called? Was I supposed to answer it for him?

His expression softens just a little and he looks down. “I thought that's what you wanted. What I did at the mall.”

He thought... he thought I wanted it? He thought I wanted it?! I jump up to my feet and shove him. “You thought I wanted it?!” My voice is shrill and I'm surprised I'm yelling. “What the fuck made you think that?”

He looks so completely confused and scared and my mind's reeling trying to figure out why he looks that way. Shouldn't that be me? Scared and confused, having to face down my attacker so soon after what he's done?

“Marcy. Marcy told me that's what you wanted, so I... I didn't want to come out and ask you.”

Marcy.

Marcy?

Back the fuck up. “Marcy? How do you know Marcy? Why would Marcy tell you to... to do that to me?” I want to think he's lying but he doesn't look like it. Besides, it's too outlandish to be a lie. Marcy. I feel so fucking betrayed. How could she do this to me?

“I thought she told you about me.”

“And what would she say? 'Oh hey, Charlie, by the way, I'm gonna sic this creepy goth kid on you. Yeah, he's gonna rape you in the parking lot of the mall. Hope you don't mind.'” It's the first time I call it what it is. I feel even worse having to admit it. I was raped. Fuck.

I drop back down on the stool. I can't look at Billy anymore. I'm probably going to be in tears before he leaves. Some man I am.

“No, no. I... I met Marcy at a bar. One of my friends introduced us and she said she could... hook me up with you.”

I cross my arms. “Well I'll be sure to let her know she's the worst fucking matchmaker ever.”

“But I... but...” He's acting like he doesn't even know what to say. What the fuck ever. What else can he say to me? He puts his hands on the counter again. “Look. She told me to find you in those phone chat rooms or whatever. And she said something about you pretending to be a teenaged girl sometimes.” My face goes hot. Marcy knew? What the fuck. “I thought she would've told you I'd be looking for you. I thought you already knew who I was when I said my name was Jack.”

And Billy knew the whole time, too? That whole fucking time, and he knew I was Charlie, not Lacy. I feel so stupid. This is all my fault, and with everything Billy says I feel like blaming him less and less. “Then what the fuck made you think I wanted to be raped?”

“I told you, Marcy. She said you just want someone to throw you down and rape you.”

I'm glaring at him. “She was drunk.”

“Well, no. She'd only had a few drinks by then.”

Who takes things drunk people say so literally? Who... I'm more aggravated now than I am disgusted. “So she was drunk, and made one little comment, and look what happened.” I'm motioning at the bruise that's still visible on my neck. “You're a genius.” Though it sounds like a compliment it's sarcastic and biting.

“You didn't seem to hate it.” I just want to punch him in the teeth. And it's not because he's right. It's definitely not because of that, or because in the past two weeks the only thing that seems to get me aroused is thinking about being pinned down in that dirty truck bed with Billy behind me, fucking my brains out like his life depended on it.

“I hate you. Get the fuck out.”

“No!” It's like a command. He suddenly grabs my hands. I'm stunned. “No. It's not going to end this way. I really like you, and I'm sorry I fucked up. I'll fix it. I'll do whatever you want, okay?”

“Whatever I want?”

He nods, a small smile starting to show on his lips.

I yank my hands away. “Then leave me the fuck alone. That's what I want.” But it's not what I want. Hell, I don't know what I want. He hurt me. That much is obvious, whether he meant to or not. I can't just let that go because he says he's sorry. I know that I like him, and that what he did to me ended up feeling good, but besides all that I didn't want it at first. And I don't want to think about it now.

He leaves in a huff and that's the end of that.

Because of all that, though, I don't know how to face Marcy. She knows I'm avoiding her. It's not her fault, but I can't say that to her.

It's been almost a month since I last talked to Billy, and nearly three days since the last time I spoke to Marcy.

It's Friday night but she hasn't left for the bars yet. Instead, she comes into my room, and I'm half-surprised to feel her climbing into bed with me. She hugs me from behind and strokes my hair.

“Tell me what's wrong.” It's not a question. It's a command, although she says it in a soothing, soft, voice, and I have to answer, even if it's with a lie.

“Nothing.”

“Is it because of what happened a while ago? Those bruises on your neck? I didn't want to... to ask if you weren't going to tell me.” She kisses my hair, and I turn around and hug her back.

“It's stupid.” And it is. Or at least I think it is. It's stupid that, nearly two months later, I'm still hung up about it. The bruises are gone. I'm not hurting anymore. At least, not physically.

“Don't be a retard. If it was stupid you wouldn't be this upset.” She pets me like a cat. “What happened, Charlie?”

There's a huge gaping pause between us, and I can't think of where to start. She already knows nearly the whole story. She knows everything except what happened in Billy's truck at the mall.

Billy.

“What if I said I liked Billy?”

“Billy? The goth kid, Billy? Greta's son?”

I nod.

“Then I would be happy for you. To be honest, I've been fooling around with one of Billy's friends, this guy named Peter. And I met Billy through him and kinda told him I'd try to hook you two up. I've only met him twice, though, so far. But you two getting together on your own is great! It's actually...” She cuts herself off though, her fingers stroking my hair a little harder. “He did it?”

I can't even confirm it, but she doesn't need me to, she knows.

“He hurt you?” She's getting up, not even bothering to see if I'll say yes. “That's son of bitch. He seemed like a nice guy, Charlie.” She hugs me tightly then. “If I'd've known he would do something like that... Jesus, Charlie.” She's crying now, and I'm hard pressed not to be.

“Why didn't you tell me? How could you not SAY anything?” What could I have said though? “We could've gone to the police, Charlie.”

“No.”

“No?” She sounds confused. I don't blame her.

“B-because.” I swallow hard. I can't admit this to Marcy. I can't tell her that... “I didn't want to because I like him. I l-liked it.”

“No, Charlie. Look at me.” Her hands are on my shoulders and I can't bring my eyes up to hers. “You don't have to pretend like you liked it. He hurt you. He did something awful, and you know it.”

“Yeah, it was awful but... “ My face is hot. This is even worse than admitting that it happened. That I have to admit that it was also enjoyable.

She sighs, like she's resigned. Stands. “Charlie...” She doesn't finish though, just looks at me for a long moment. I'm just waiting for her to scold me. I'm stupid, I know. I'm an idiot, Marcy. A total idiot.

“I love you, you know that. But it's obvious you're lying to me. To yourself, even. If you liked it so much, why have you been avoiding everything lately? It's like you're just... you're feeling sorry for yourself, aren't you?” She crosses her arms. “It's understandable. It's okay. But don't try to trick yourself into believing you liked that. We can get you help, if you want it. A counselor.”

“No, I told you. That's not what I want.” I sigh, lean back against the wall, pull my covers up over my shoulders. “I'm fine. Really. Honest to god, Marcy, I'm totally cool.” I try to flash her a grin, but it might have failed a little.

She's silent. “Alright.” She kisses my head again. “I'm gonna go out for a little bit, okay? But I'll be back later tonight.”

And that's fine with me.

Marcy leaves, and when she comes home much later, she tries to hide her bruised up knuckles. I can only imagine what she went to do, and in my honor.

She doesn't tell me what she did, and I don't find out until three days later.

I'm leaving work, and it's right after I lock the door when someone's hand drops down onto my shoulder and I turn around only to come face to face with Billy. Billy again.

And then I can see why Marcy's knuckles were bruised, because here Billy's eye is bruised. I'm almost proud of Marcy. I didn't know she could hit that hard.

“What do you want?” I shrug away his hand, do my best to ignore him.

“I just want to talk, okay? I talked to Marcy a few days ago.”

I look up at him, study his black eye. “I can see that.”

He chuckles, as if he hadn't meant to bring that up. “Yeah, she's really strong for a girl her size.”

Maybe I'm supposed to laugh with him. But I don't. And there's an awkward space in the air where that should be now.

“But I... talked with Marcy. She said you don't hate me. Do you? Even after what I did.”

I sigh, leaning against the bricks. “No. I don't hate you. Does that make you happy? I can't hate you.”

He suddenly puts his arms around me, pulls me deep into an embrace. I immediately go tense but he doesn't seem to notice. “It makes me very happy,” he says. “Because I think I might be in love with you.”

I shove him away. “You don't even know me! How can you say bullshit like that?”

“I don't know. I just can't get you off my mind. Doesn't that mean something? You're all I think about and I really can't fucking stand it.”

“Well. This is your fault.” And I can already tell this is going to end just like last time. Billy's going to walk away because I keep pushing him away.

And when Billy leaves me I'm going to feel like shit because it's not what I want.

I take a step closer to him, press my forehead against his chest as his arms come up around me again. “I know. I'm sorry.”

It's so backwards and so awful that I just want him to keep holding me and telling me he's sorry and that he's in love with me. I want to see a gentle side to him, to know it exists. But I want that other side, the darker side of Billy that raped me in his truck that day. I want all of him. Every last drop. I can't keep pushing him away. I can't keep denying myself.

My arms move on their own up and around his neck. He holds me tighter, like he's afraid to let go. One of my hands moves up to tangle in that apple hair of his, yanking his face closer to my own. “You better do me proper this time,” I say. “Or else I think Marcy might do more than just give you a black eye.”

I smirk, but he just nods solemnly, cupping my cheek in his palm, moving in closer to kiss me softly and it's so radically different than our first kiss I'm almost knocked off balance but he's got a firm grip around my waist.

“Is it really okay?”

I hesitate for a moment. “Yes.” And then we're kissing again, and it feels so good and Billy tastes so sweet. And I know I can handle him now. My body's healed physically, and maybe I'm a little shaky mentally, but I can handle this.

But still we're standing in the middle of the street, and it's late, but it's still early enough for people to be around. I let go of him. “We should continue this inside,” I say, and he's quick to agree.

Marcy's there when we get up to the apartment and she's giving me a pointed look, like I'm asking for trouble. But she can't really believe that. She told Billy I don't hate him.

She leaves only a few moments later without a real excuse, but I don't really care at this point because Billy's putting his arms around me, Billy's kissing me slowly but passionately and I think if I don't have more of him soon I'm going to go crazy.

I take him in my room, push him on the bed, and climb on top of him. His hands wander passed my waist, down my hips and across my ass. We're kissing harder now, his tongue tasting out my mouth and the backs of my teeth, doing a thorough search.

I can't complain.

He kneads my ass in his hands, pushing my hips down into his, grinding against me. But it's different this time. He's being a little rough, but I'm on top. I'm in control now.

My hands move to his hair, fingers dusting over the piercings in his ears, and the hard metal against my fingertips is such an incredible turn on. I didn't get a chance to see last time... Does he have anymore piercings like Marcy said? I'm eager to find out, I realize.

He looks uncomfortable being underneath me, but I half think he deserves it and half find the sight adorable more than anything. I pull away from the kiss, stroke his face, then move my mouth down to his neck, kissing and sucking and biting him.

He squirms a little under me. I laugh. One of his hands moves up under my shirt, touching bare skin. I squirm this time. He's trying to push my shirt off, and I sit up on him to pull it over my head.

His hands move to my thighs and he sits up, kissing down the middle of my chest like he's going to take control now. He ghosts his fingers over my sides, then holds me, tries to switch our positions and push me down, but I stop him, tug at his shirt. “Take it off.” I have to lean back on my hands while he complies, revealing each tantalizing inch of his skin.

And it really is the most tantalizing thing I've ever seen. Billy's paler than I am, but his body doesn't leave any room for disappointment. He's not incredibly built, but there's the definite outline of muscle under his skin and I can see silver rings attached to his nipples.

If I wasn't hard before, I definitely am now.

I push him back down, lay on top of him. I start on his neck again, sucking and biting. I want to leave a mark. I need to leave a mark, here. But I don't know if I need to do it as payback or simply because... I want to claim him as my own.

He's so hot underneath me, and my hand starts to sweat as it slides down his shoulder, his chest, fingers resting subtly against that silver ring through his nipple. He has his hand on my head, the other resting on the small of my back.

I don't know if I can play with this, though. If I can touch his nipple. But when I start touching it lightly he doesn't object, and so I finger it, push the tip of my nail in the middle of that hoop and rub his nipple. He moans, grips me, but doesn't try to stop me. My other hand finds his other nipple, and now I'm teasing both of them and the noises he's making are so delicious I'm sucking them up like candy. I grind my erection down into him and let out a moan myself.

Then we're kissing again, and it's so wet and erotic, and when he pushes me off him I let him put me on my back. I let him hover over me, put his weight on top of me, just as long as we can keep kissing.

My hands abandon his chest to go fumble with his belt buckle and he laughs at my inability to remove the damn thing, having to pull away to unfasten it. But he doesn't remove it all the way, instead he kisses me again and puts my hand back on his pants. I unbutton them the rest of the way, reach my hand in and touch him.

And it's exhilarating that he pushes his dick right into my hand, and oh jesus I'm jerking him off, and he's going weak against me. “Let me suck you off,” I say.

He sits up after a moment, leans back against the wall as I go for his lap, pulling his cock farther out of his pants so I can get my mouth around it.

When I suck on the tip, he moans, feathers his fingers in my hair, and I almost want to say he's never had anyone do this to him before.

I run my tongue up from the base, back to the tip where I suck a little, gently, of course. I slide my mouth down around him, and I feel a little inexperienced because I can only get a few inches in my mouth. But he's got the biggest dick I've ever sucked on, so it's no surprise that I can't choke the whole thing down.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. Not with the moans he's giving me for all my hard work.

He tenses up under me after a while. “Aah, you're not gonna make me... I'm gonna...” I know what he's saying, but I don't let up. If anything, I'm sucking him harder now, willing him to cum in my mouth. I hate admitting this but I love swallowing.

Billy yanks on my hair as he cums in my mouth, but I'm too busy slurping up his cock to notice. I lick him until he goes soft in my mouth and then I look up at his face.

He looks positively euphoric for a long moment, just petting my hair like I've been a good dog for him or something. When he opens his eyes he looks a little mad. Like maybe he thought he would be fucking me or maybe he's just embarrassed by how fast I made him cum.

Either way, it doesn't last long because he pushes me back down onto the bed and gropes me through my jeans as if to say it's my turn now and I eagerly let him move down my body and slide my pants and underwear off my hips.

And maybe he's not as skilled as I am at giving head but nonetheless he's still fantastic, and I'm hissing and groaning as he takes care of my dick thoroughly and everything about the way he does this is so like him. So blunt and rough, but every now and then he flicks his tongue out and soothes over whatever he's done to me and I cry out all over again. It's painful and teasing, and when I crack an eye to look down at him I think I can see him smirking. Before I know it I'm cumming, too, and I don't warn him at all but he seems to know anyway because it doesn't catch him off guard at all when I shoot off in his mouth.

I'm just laying here, panting, sated. He joins me after a second, after thoughtfully pulling my clothes back up so I look mildly presentable.

He puts his arms around me, and doesn't say anything and I drift off to sleep.

We both wake up a few hours later, and things are different this time. We aren't on equal ground anymore, and when he kisses me he's forceful and pushy, and he holds me down by my shoulders and it's so much like our first time together but I'm not trying to stop him.

It's hungry and fast and needy and Billy wastes no time removing the rest of our clothes, and, naked, he presses into me, rubs our dicks together before he's asking me about condoms and lube, if I have any sitting around my room, and I try not to look away from him while I fumble with the side table drawer, trying to dig out that shameful little tube of lubrication I've only ever used on myself. The thing I bought because of the man laying on top of me.

Billy takes it from me and squirts some out on his fingers and this time I can watch him, I can watch as he concentrates so hard on putting his fingers inside my body, but I know how big he is. I know how much he's going to fill me up, and it's making me impatient with need because I just want him inside me right now but all I can do is squirm around his hand, beg incoherently as if my tongue's stopped working.

I get my way soon, because I see his hands are shaking as he slips a condom on his dick, and without much warning he pushes himself completely inside me. I go rigid, for just a second, and he looks worried, but then I wrap my legs around his waist and keep him where he is.

This is what I needed. This feeling alone. This feeling of fullness that seems to completely kill that void inside myself. And then Billy starts moving. In and out, in and out. He's slow at first, but I know his control is slipping and soon before long he's thrusting hard and deep, touching something inside me that makes me go wild.

I fist the sheets beside my head, thrashing while I try to meet his strokes with my body. It's half for show, half completely out of my control. Billy loves it. I can see his eyes glazing over and he's going to lose it soon. But me too. I will too.

“S-so... so good.” And I'm surprised to realize that it's me saying that, it's me keening like some virgin underneath Billy, and he's mostly silent except for the occasional grunt and within seconds I cum for the second time that night, and Billy's not too far behind me.

We stay together that way for a while. Trembling together. I feel him go soft inside me, and it's endearing that he wants to stay connected that way even though now the connection has lost its meaning.

But he does pull out, and I don't know why but I look away when he ties off his condom and dumps it in the trash, and we're messy and gross and my chest is going to have nasty flaky cum all over it if we just fall asleep this way but he's holding me again and he's so warm and he's pulling the blanket over us and I just can't be bothered to get up.

Marcy wakes us up the next day, bitching loudly about the phone bill.