Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) (8 page)

I mean, I don't know which faculty member was responsible for
choosing the song list. But they were obviously determined to keep us from having
any fun. It’s like they knew the room was full of hormones and they thought
that playing the least sexy music on the planet was the only way they could
keep us from copulating on the dance floor.

Or maybe they had consulted my Mom. I mean, the Macarena? The
Chicken Dance?

It was so ridiculous. After all, it didn’t matter how hard they
tried to keep us sober, upright, and clothed. Nothing could change the fact
that as soon as we left, we were going to get drunk, horizontal, and naked.

And listen to some decent music while we were at it.

So we killed a few hours sipping juice by the bleachers and
gossiping about how much we were going to drink at the after party. Then we
left and went back to Ian’s.

When we got to his house, a few of the girls and I took it upon
ourselves to perform an enthusiastic and detailed retelling of the dance. This
kept Ian’s parents in the kitchen long enough for the guys to sneak all the beer
into the basement.

Once that mission was accomplished, everyone changed out of
their fancy clothes. Then we spent the next few hours drinking and sneaking out
the basement door for smoke breaks. 

And Ian’s parents didn’t come downstairs a single time. Which
was cool. It made me think that maybe they were teenagers with healthy social
lives once upon a time.

Unlike my parents. The only time I’ve ever seen my Mom drink was
two sangria’s at the neighborhood block party a few years ago. My Dad basically
had to carry her home. Of course, she was mortified even though all the other
housewives were trashed an hour later and no one gave a shit.

But she doesn’t have a clue. She thinks that anyone who’s ever
gotten so drunk that they had the thought
I’m never going to drink again
is an alcoholic. Which means everyone I know has a drinking problem.

Anyway, I was pleasantly buzzed after a healthy amount of beer,
and I really wanted to be alone with Ian since I hadn’t seen him in weeks. At
least not outside of school. Or his clothes.

Eventually, he asked if I wanted to go check something out in
his room. I think he thought he was being smooth, but everyone who heard him made
whoo noises.

He told them to shut up and then took me by the hand and led me
upstairs. We snuck right past the den where his parents were watching a super loud
action movie with an open bottle of wine.

The first thing I noticed when I walked in his room was all the
lacrosse trophies. Then I saw a pile of laundry in a chair that he obviously
didn’t fold himself. It all looked pretty normal. Until he closed his bedroom
door.

Hanging on the back of it was a large poster of some busty, tan model.
Her stars and stripes bikini top was straining to hold her breasts in place. It
looked like they were lucky to get the shot before it snapped off.

It caught me off guard.

I don’t know why. It’s not like I expected him to have a poster
of the cast of Glee like my brother did. Still, her looming presence didn’t
exactly set me at ease. I mean, if that was his dream girl, I was fucked.
Compared to her, I looked completely average and forgettable. And pale. And
fat.

When I finally looked away, Ian was sitting on the edge of his
bed watching me.

“She’s got nothing on you,” he said.

I could barely keep from rolling my eyes at the bold faced lie. But
I have to admit, it was a nice thing for him to say.

“Come here.” He patted the navy bedspread beside him.

I took a seat next to him and wondered how many other girls had
sat on his bed.

“What did you think of the dance?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It was… tough to be honest.”

“Tough?” I turned my head towards him.

“Yeah.” He put his hand under my chin. “I’ve wanted to kiss you
since I first saw you tonight.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop if I started.”

I blushed and looked down at my feet.

“Maybe we could pick up where we left off in the wine closet?”

I smiled at him.

He kissed me softly at first, but soon he was swirling his
tongue around mine and leaning me back on the bed. I hoped I wouldn’t embarrass
myself by doing something horrible like burping in his mouth.

He ran a hand up my hip and it made me feel warm below my belly
button. I wanted him so bad. I couldn’t believe he wanted me, too, and that we
were finally going to do it in a real bed!

His hand slid over my boobs and he squeezed them through my t-shirt.
I could feel his erection growing against my thigh and was glad my chest was
finally coming in handy for something.

He rolled on top of me and started to rock against me like we
were grinding in a waterbed. Soon my eyelids felt warm and my insides were
aching. I desperately wanted to feel him inside me. For real this time. For
more than two seconds.

I sat up so he could pull my top off. Then while he pulled his
shirt off, I undid my bra and lay back down.

He continued to grope my breasts. I can’t really say it felt
good, but he seemed delighted to have full access. However, when he moved his
mouth down onto my nipples and sucked on them, it felt kind of nice. Weird, but
nice. They got hard like I was freezing even though I was warm all over.

When Ian finally slipped his hand in the front of my pants, I
was happy enough with the length of the hair down there. It was shorter than
when we’d first hooked up, but it wasn’t sharp like a porcupine’s back or
anything. Mostly, I was just grateful that he didn’t mention it. Of course, we
were so drunk when we’d hooked up before that he probably didn’t remember how
it used to be anyway.

When he discovered how wet I was, he made a noise that sounded
like approval, and slipped a finger inside me. I let out a little moan to
encourage him, but when he stuck the second finger in, I moaned for real.

“Shhhhh,” he said, smiling at me.

Then I remembered his parents were right downstairs and I pursed
my lips.

As soon as he pulled my pants off, I was ready to guide him into
me. I was sure he would be better this time. Instead, he did something I wasn’t
expecting, something I wasn’t ready for.

He stuck his head between my legs, and I felt his tongue against
my clit. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I laid them next to me on
the bed and clasped his comforter.

I wanted to enjoy the way his warm breath and his soft tongue felt
against me, but I couldn’t relax. I mean, I knew it was a big deal that Ian
Hendricks was going down on me. But all I could think about was whether he
really wanted to do it and was he really enjoying himself and how long was he
going to be down there?

Finally, I grabbed his head gently. “That’s enough,” I said.
“That was really nice, thank you.”

He wiped his mouth against the back of his hand. “How did that
feel?”

“Great,” I lied.

He smiled. “I’m glad,” he said, lying beside me. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“To make me feel good.” He rolled onto his back and propped
himself up on his elbows.

“Did you just do that to me so that I would give you head?”

“No,” he said. “I did it because I wanted to.”

I felt like I might cry.

“Don’t you want to?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, we’re not even
boyfriend/girlfriend?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You like me, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling stuck. “Of course, I do. I just don’t
know if I’m ready for-”

“But you let me go down on you? Don’t you think that’s kind of
unfair?”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“But we’ve already had sex?”

I wanted to say I wasn’t sure that counted since he hardly made
it inside me before he came, but it seemed like the wrong thing to say.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “It’s just a little head.”

“I thought we were going to have sex.”

“We will after,” he said. “You only have to do it for a second.
It’s only fair.”

I didn’t want to be unfair. I didn’t want to be a prude. I
wanted Ian to be happy that he asked me to the dance. I just didn’t want to
have to suck on his penis to make that happen. But I felt trapped. I felt like
if I didn’t do it, he’d find someone else who would.

And where would that leave me?

I told myself it wouldn’t be that bad. Just because I’d never
liked someone enough to consider it before didn’t mean I shouldn’t give Ian a
chance.

Maybe no one ever felt ready their first time. Maybe I’d even be
good at it, and he’d ask me to be his girlfriend. Then I wouldn’t feel like a
slut.

“Please, Kate,” he said. “I want you so bad.”

I wrapped my hand around his dick and pretended I was someone
else, someone who didn’t think giving head was a big deal. Someone who wanted
to suck on Ian’s penis.

And then I did.

It felt like I was operating a bicycle pump with my mouth. At
one point, he put a hand on my head and tried to speed me up without saying
anything.

And then I felt him swell and I got scared. I wanted to stop,
but he pushed me down on him and shot his hot cum to the back of my throat. And
I swallowed it because I didn’t know what else to do.

By the time it was all over, he’d gone completely limp.

I wiped my mouth against the back of my hand and sat up to look
at him. He had a big smile on his face and his eyes were closed.

I lay down next to him.

He rolled his head towards me on the pillow. “That was great,
Kate. You were amazing. Thanks.”

I was glad I made him feel good, but it didn’t change the fact
that my mouth tasted like dick.

“Want to go back to the party?” I asked.

“You can,” he said. “I think I’m just gonna relax for a second.”

“Oh. Okay.”  

He rolled onto his side and watched me get dressed. “I’ll be
down soon.”

So I went back to the party without him.

And then I washed my mouth out with as much beer as I could get
my hands on.

I hadn’t had a cigarette in two days.

Not because I believed I was really going to quit, but because
it seemed like I could at least give it a try. Even though it was no different
than any of the other times I’d quit under duress.

So I didn’t really see the point.

After all, preserving my quality of life was supposed to be my
main focus now, and smoking was a pillar of my routine. Plus, quitting made my
cough a lot worse.

My regular smoker’s cough was a hoarse-wheezy yack. It was the
kind of cough I could get out eventually, the kind that has a clear ending. On
the other hand, the post quit cough was more of an incessant tickle, and I
couldn’t stand it.

So as I sat outside St. Rita’s Hospital with a tickly throat, I
wondered how long it would be before I lit up again.

I was alone on the bench with the two things I always took
everywhere: my inoperable lungs and my Kindle. It used to thrill me that I
could read filthy smut in public without anyone knowing. But when I realized
that I could also secretly download books about cancer and dying, it just made
me feel depressed.

I could read about all kinds of sick people without anyone
looking at me with their eyes full of pity as they wondered why I was spending my
spare time reading cancer books.

Not that I had downloaded any yet. If I were going to hurry up
and read anything, shouldn’t it be all the Classics I thought I had another
forty years to tackle?

Plus, buying those books would make it too real. And none of
their titles appealed to me.

Sure, if I could go back twenty seven years and not put that
first Marlboro light in my mouth, I would. And I might be okay. But I suspected
that I wasn’t going to change my destiny at this stage with fruits and
vegetables and the power of positive thinking.

Plus, the doctor said I’d be lucky if I lived another six
months. And I hadn’t suddenly found myself regretting all the celery I’d passed
up over the years.

If anything, the opposite was true. I was having flashbacks of all
the times I’d gone to Burger King and opted for a Whopper Jr. instead of a
Double Whopper.  

And why didn’t I have it my way more often? Because I didn’t
want to get fat or clog my arteries.

If only I’d had to buy my cigarettes the way they sell French
fries. Maybe then something would’ve clicked. Maybe I would’ve thought,
shit,
that’s a lot of cigarettes. Maybe I should cut back.