Anatomy of a Boyfriend (11 page)

―How did you do that? Hook it and let me try again.‖

He reaches his arms behind me and starts fumbling some more, but soon he‘s exclaiming, ―Hey, I got it! I got it!‖

My back is bare, but my bra‘s still hanging on my shoulders concealing my breasts. Light from the distant dock lanterns penetrates the windows, casting a delicate blue sheen over us. We grin at each other softly, as if on cue. I get another sudden rush, like I know this is a moment I‘ll remember forever.

―Go ahead,‖ I whisper, stunned this is actually happening.

Wes gets up on his knees and grabs both shoulder straps before indelicately yanking off the bra.

I wish he had been a little more gradual, to make the moment last.

―Wow, Dom!‖ His eyes widen like saucers.

I think I was expecting to be embarrassed, but I‘m not in the slightest. I
want
him to see me naked, physically and emotionally. In a fit of passion I reach over and hug him tightly, but instead of hugging me back he wedges his hands between our chests and starts feeling my breasts. Softly at first, then a little rougher, like he‘s trying to figure out what they can withstand.

It‘s fantastic, invigorating, freeing. The sensation of his big, manly hands on my skin makes my whole body feel like silk. I‘m so glad I never let anyone else touch me there before. It‘s as if I‘ve been holding out for Wes before I even knew he existed. Still, I think again how this would be a good time to stop for the night, but then he asks if I want his shirt off too.

―Yeah, definitely!‖ I hear myself answer.

I grab the sides of his polo and start to tug. My breasts are still on full display, and I think he‘s a little mesmerized because he‘s not moving at all, just gazing. Undressing him reminds me of trying to change a sleepy, uncooperative four-year-old into his pajamas.

―Hey, can you just lift your arms up a little?‖

―Oh, sorry, Dom.‖

I pull off his shirt, and he looks so good. Of course I‘ve seen tons of guys topless at the beach and in magazines and stuff, but I‘ve never gotten close enough to actually touch anything. I hesitate, not sure what to do, but then I slowly place my hands on his flat, almost concave stomach. It‘s hard and slightly hairy. I can feel it contract as he breathes. I don‘t think I‘ll ever enjoy reading
Gray’s Anatomy
or playing Operation again, now that I get to handle a live specimen.

I glance at his face, and he‘s just watching me as I explore his torso. Things suddenly feel too serious and I want to lighten the mood, so I poke him in the tummy and say, ―Nice six-pack, Gersh.‖

―Nice rack, Baylor.‖

―Wes!‖

I start tickling him under his arms, and he laughs and squirms for a few seconds before rolling on top of me. I love the secure sensation of Wes‘s weight pressing down on my body, although it makes taking deep breaths a little difficult. Sometimes he gyrates his pelvis against mine, which would probably feel better if there weren‘t a layer of denim between us. Soon the temperature inside the car gets really hot and the windows fog up, so we have to stop for a moment while Wes turns on the engine and the air-conditioning. Then it begins pouring outside, which makes fooling around in the trunk of our cozy vehicular sanctuary all the more exhilarating.

After three hours of nonstop kissing and feeling up, I tell Wes I need a breather, so we lie in each other‘s arms in contented silence. I know this is only our second night together, but I can‘t stop thinking about sex, what it would feel like. It‘d be nice to have some sort of climax to all this physicality, if only to feel like we‘re finished, like we‘d done something whole and complete. But that would be a huge step from where we are now. Sex still feels like a fantasy, something that couldn‘t actually happen.

―So, what are you thinking about?‖ I ask him.

―I‘m thinking that I love your voice.‖

Just say you love me! I’m bursting to say it, but I want you to do it first!

―My voice?‖ I ask.

He nods. ―Now that SQ‘s over and you can stay up later, maybe we can talk on the phone at night. It‘d be nice to hear you, not my keyboard.‖

―Wow, the telephone—what an archaic concept,‖ I say sardonically. Then I smile at him. ―You know what I‘m thinking?‖

―What?‖

―That I love…your anatomy. It‘s perfect.‖

―Nah.‖ Wes grins.

―Yes!‖ I sit up and look at him. ―In class, we‘re always learning about the body in terms of, you know, breathing, eating, sleeping—‖

―Sweating, barfing, farting,‖ Wes interrupts, laughing.

I laugh too, though this is the second time tonight I‘m reminded of bratsitting.

―Yes, all that too. But seriously, if you think about it, the body was made to show affection.

Look.‖ I point to his head. ―Hair for me to run my fingers through.‖

Next I point to his baby blues. ―To make eyes at me.‖

I continue to work my way down Wes‘s body.

―Your lips, to kiss me with. Your teeth, to bite me with. Your neck, for me to bite. Your arms, to hold me; your fingers, to caress me…‖

I skip over his crotch and go right down to his feet. ―To push the gas pedal with when you come by to pick me up. See, you‘re perfect!‖

Wes grins even wider and says, ―Dom…I still can‘t believe this is happening.‖

I can feel my stomach turn in on itself. I swear, I‘ve gotten more highs this week than during my entire life up until Wes. ―Well, let me try to convince you of the reality of the situation.‖

I snuggle under him and we resume kissing. I can feel his penis pressing through his jeans up against my inner thighs. If we were naked, we‘d have been close to having sex missionary style.

Almost without thinking about it I drag my right hand down his chest and abdomen unt il my fingers are over his jeans just below his belly button. Then I start walking my fingers down even farther. He‘s holding his breath and his heart is racing, sending vibrations into my own chest. I feel dizzy and light-headed, like every cell in my body is pushing my arm that final inch. I‘m just about to rest my hand on his crotch when a thunderous bang echoes through the car.

Did he just ejaculate?

I pull my hand away from Wes‘s stomach as he leaps up, bumping his head on the fuzzy gray ceiling.

―What the hell was that?‖ he asks, looking to either side of him.

―Um, wasn‘t that you?‖ I figured he convulsed and kicked the trunk door when I touched him. I barely grazed his jeans, but Amy warned me that guys our age can come really easily.

―No,‖ he whispers sharply. ―It was from outside.‖

I slowly lift my head and see the dark outline of a man against the back windshield, his fist pressed into the glass.

―Oh shit, oh shit! Someone‘s there!‖ I shriek, my heart shooting out of my chest.

―Relax, stay calm!‖ Wes says firmly as he reaches for his polo, which I had rolled up to use as a pillow.

I can see the headlines:CARJACKER KILLS HALF-NAKED TEENAGERS.

Wes pulls on his shirt and presses his face to the glass.

―It‘s a cop. Fuck! I knew we shouldn‘t have left the car running.‖

I revise the headline:POLICE CHIEF‘S DAUGHTER ARRESTED FOR LEWD AND

OBSCENE BEHAVIOR. STANFORD TOSSES HER APPLICATION.

―Wait here,‖ he says. ―He‘s motioning for me to come out.‖

―Shit. Be careful,‖ I whisper shakily.

I throw on my bra and sundress as Wes crawls over me and exits through the driver‘s side door.

I peer through the side window and watch as the lone policeman talks to Wes and frisks him.

Then the cop motions toward me.

As they walk toward the rear I smooth back my hair and slip on my sandals. The trunk door opens to me sitting cross-legged with a petrified look on my face. The cop peers inside. I raise my hand in a silly wave. I don‘t recognize him from the times I‘ve visited headquarters. I hope he doesn‘t recognize me and that he doesn‘t ask for my ID or last name.

―Are you all right, miss?‖

―Yes sir,‖ I squeak, trying to disguise my voice.

―Come out,‖ Wes instructs me, his pulse obviously going a mile a minute. ―He asked if he could search the car for alcohol and stuff, and I said that‘d be fine.‖

I quickly hop out of the trunk and take my place next to Wes, who‘s looking sheepishly at the ground. I look down also and hold my jacket over my head in an attempt to shield my eyes from the rain, which has downgraded to a cold drizzle. I‘m so scared Wes‘s brother hid a stash of pot or something in the car back when he owned it and forgot about it. I want to cling to Wes‘s arm, but I‘m too afraid to move.

After what seems like forever, the cop approaches us and stares us down. ―It‘s pretty stupid of you to go parking here. What if some rapist or murderer got to you before I did? If you were my kids, I‘d ground you for a year. Use your brains next time, got it?‖

―Yes, officer,‖ Wes and I recite in unison as we dart back into the car and tear out of the dock.

My thoughts immediately turn to my parents. Dad would blow his top if he knew. Mom would be so embarrassed if this ever got out to the other teachers at Shorr. I know what my grandma would say:
How can you have a white wedding now?

―I—I can‘t believe that just happened to us,‖ I stammer, shivering in my damp clothes.

―He was right, though. I‘m sorry, Dom. I should have known better.‖

―It wasn‘t your fault. I‘d better get home, though. It‘s almost one.‖

I open the visor mirror to check my makeup, and I literally gasp at what‘s staring back at me.

My neck is sprinkled with reddish purple contusions! I break into a giggling fit when I realize I was Wes-inated again. My first hickeys!

―What‘s so funny?‖ Wes asks.

―Look.‖ I hold my hair up with my hands. ―Don‘t worry, they don‘t hurt.‖

His jaw drops when he sees them. Then he smiles smugly. ―Hey, do I have any?‖ he asks, tilting his head up.

―Yes!‖ I shriek. ―You have a couple little ones, under your ear. I bet Paul and the other guys on the team will be teasing you like crazy at practice Monday.‖

―Great,‖ he says sarcastically.

Then we both break out laughing. At the next red light, I lean over and hug him. ―Between the smoke detector and this, we‘ve had an exciting week.‖

―A little too exciting for my taste, but yeah, in retrospect it‘s pretty funny.‖

―Hey, even if some psycho killer did try to get us, you‘re so fit, you could‘ve kicked his ass.‖

―Dom, it‘s really difficult to kick ass with a hard-on.‖

I giggle nervously, and I wonder how long it‘s going to be before I get a look at his hard-on. I‘m also a little shocked he even said the word, but if tonight was any indication, he‘s growing out of his shyness fast. We both are.

When Wes drops me off at my building, we make out for a good five minutes in the front seat before I reluctantly go upstairs. I don‘t care that everyone driving by, including the cops, can see everything that‘s going on.

18

N
ow that parking in Wes‘s car is officially a bad idea, we‘re forced to consider alternative venues. Amy‘s lucky her mom and stepdad have season tickets or memberships to every sports team, museum, and dramatic arts center within a fifty-mile radius. They‘re always out on the town for hours at a time, and Amy can bring home her hookup du jour without anyone being the wiser.

Unfortunately, both Wes‘s and my parents swear by the ―early to bed, early to rise‖ motto and stay home most evenings. But three days after we‘re busted by the cop, I propose a solution to Wes during one of our now nightly phone calls.

―So, do you remember when we were looking at your photographs, and you mentioned your grandparents in SoHo keep a condo on Captiva Island? What‘s it like?‖

―Um, I dunno, it‘s nice for a studio. It‘s on the second floor, Gulf view. There‘s an indoor garage, no elevator. Why do you—? Oh.‖ He chuckles. ―I like how you think, Dom.‖

―If it‘s empty most of the time anyway, maybe you could figure out a way for us to get in?‖

―Not sure, but I‘ll see what I can do.‖

―Good. I can‘t wait till this weekend, either way.‖

―Ditto.‖

On Friday evening at Wes‘s meet, I see his parents for the first time since we started going out.

For all they know, Wes and I are already having sex, so I‘m worried they‘ll see me as some sort of slut-ho corrupting their precious son. I beg Amy to accompany me as moral support, and I make sure to conceal my not-quite-faded hickeys with a strategically tied bandanna.

When we get to our seats, the Gershwins seem to be their typical happy, vaguely spaced-out selves, outfitted in their usual pastel sweatsuits.

―Hello, Dominique!‖ Mrs. Gershwin stands up and hugs me.

I hug her back, feeling a lot more secure about everything. I figure she wouldn‘t want to hug a slut-ho.

Then I shake hands with Mr. Gershwin, who says smilingly, ―Good to see you, Dominique.‖

Amy says brightly, ―Hey, Mrs. G, Mr. G. Long time, no see.‖

―Hello, Amy!‖ Mrs. Gershwin hugs her too. ―So glad you could make it. And what fine taste in best friends you have!‖

Amy nods in agreement, and I blush.

―The team‘s been missing you, Braff,‖ Mr. Gershwin says. ―You were the best distance runner by a long shot.‖

―Thanks, Mr. G. I‘m taking it up again at Amherst.‖

When we sit down, Mrs. Gershwin leans over to whisper in my ear. ―We‘re so happy about you and Wesley. We knew from the first time we met that you were very special.‖

Chills race down my spine I‘m so delighted. ―Thank you, Mrs. Gershwin,‖ I whisper back.

―That‘s really nice of you to say.‖

Amy elbows me in a congratulatory way, and at the same moment Wes looks at me from across the field and winks. It‘s all so perfect I almost cry. Here I am with my amazing best friend, watching my amazing boyfriend, sitting next to his amazing parents, who obviously think I‘m amazing. January and February were such an emotional purgatory, but it was so worth it, just for this moment.

The streak continues that night when Wes picks me up with a kiss and a key.

―You did it!‖ I cheer. ―You didn‘t mention it, so I didn‘t know.‖

―I found it in Dad‘s desk and got it copied during lunch.‖