An adult stories – First Time For Everything by JB_Carter,JB_Carter PART I
Brandon sat on the uncomfortable bed in his dorm room. The sun fell in through the window over his belongings set on the cheap desk in the corner. His parents left minutes ago, and he hadn’t unpacked yet. Brandon wanted to take it in–his first day at college, his first time ever being on his own, his first time potentially starting fresh with a whole new set of people.
Late elementary and high school had been hell, worse than sometimes. He had a rare hormonal skin condition–cystpermia–since 12-years-old, one that had no cure or practical treatment except for his father saying, “Hey, it could be worst, so be damn grateful.” Even now, Brandon couldn’t fathom being grateful for what he never asked for.
But he dealt with it, because what else was there to do? He dealt with the pointing and laughing, the jokes the girl classmates would pull on him; he dealt with being pushed and shoved during recesses, being followed after school by groups of older kids until he made it to his front porch; he dealt with the times he couldn’t make it to his house and the beatings he would endure just because he was different, abnormal; and everything else he didn’t want to remember. He dealt with it all without complaint, because his parents couldn’t do anything about it, and the school sure as hell wouldn’t either… He learned after many futile attempts to report the incidents, given the excuse: “We can’t be everywhere at once.”
He hoped it would be different. He knew people were people, and just because they were older didn’t mean they were any better than they were as kids. There would still be teasing, gossiping, and so on, but no one knew him here, and the chance to make any sort of difference, even little, in his life was all he hoped for.
He rubbed his palms on his jeans, and stood from the bed. Sighing, he started unpacking.
* * *
For seven days, no one spoke to him, no one sat next to him in class, no one did anything besides whisper to one another while glancing at him sitting in the back. At first, it was fine. He could let it roll off his back. It was probably the first time anyone has ever seen someone with cystpermia, so the severe acne covering his face was uncommon to see out in the wild. Then, the second day was like the first, and third like the second, and by the following Monday, he was tired of it.
Brandon did his damnedest to ignore them, to focus on his school work, but the more he heard their snide remarks and laughter, saw them pointing or nodding at him, and felt the familiar pressure of judgment from classroom after classroom, he didn’t know if he could take it anymore. He had four years of this, maybe more if he continued on to graduate school; in total six more years of pure hell to endure on top of the already twelve years of it. Would it always be like this? Would he always be the weird one, because of his condition? It was beyond school; it reached into adulthood and on. If college students acted the same as high schoolers, then he couldn’t imagine a world in which late-20-year-olds, early-30-year-olds, wouldn’t behave any differently.
He spent his Sunday night at the payphone a couple blocks from campus, using what change he could scrounge up to keep the conversation connected. Rain spit on the phone booth. Brandon could’ve used the telephone at school, but the last thing he wanted was to give them more ammunition against him, because seemingly anything he did could be used.
“Do you want to come home?” his mother said. “Me and your dad will come pick you up tomorrow, if that’s what you want.”
The outside was warped by the downpour. Across the street, pick-up trucks parked in the gravel lot of a restaurant. “I don’t want to, but… I don’t know what to do mom. I want to stay here, but… people.”
“Is that Brandon on the phone?” His dad said in the background. Scratching noises poured from the receiver, then his father said, clearer: “What’s going on, Bran?”
He repeated the situation, the same one he had so many times before.
“Just ignore them,” he laughed, followed by a click of ice in a glass. “Fuck ’em, Bran. You have a little acne, who gives a shit? Let them go on about their bullshit, and just focus on your grades. One day you’ll be their boss, then what the hell will they do then, huh?”
“It’s not that easy, dad.”
“It is, you just think it ain’t. Here, look, give it another week. If things don’t turn around, we’ll come and get you and figure something out. You aren’t dropping out, that’s fucking for sure, so don’t get that idea in your head.”
“I wouldn’t, but are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Maybe we can find a college you can do from home, or I don’t know, over the phone. You can’t be the only guy around with people-problems who wants a degree.”
He sighed, leaning against the glass. “Thanks dad, really.”
“Don’t mention it, but do you want to talk to your mother again?”
“No, that’s okay. Love you guys.”
“You too, Bran.”
The phone clanged on the receiver. A week. He only had to suffer another week, then he’d be back in the safety of his home. It felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and he figured by the same time seven days from now, it would be remain gone.
* * *
With something to look forward to, his days blended together. The focus was no longer on who surrounded him, but the upcoming Sunday. By Monday morning, Brandon would be waking up in his own bed, not the bed he presently laid on in the pitch dark. He was meant to wake up in a few hours, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Another issue he had to deal with since starting college.
Finally, his body was slipping into sleep when someone pounded on his dorm door. Brandon didn’t move, hoping whoever it was had made a mistake or would simply leave, but soon there was another knock. Groaning, he got out of bed and opened the door.
“Whoa,” she said, stepping back, her blue eyes, masked in black eyeshadow, widening. “Who’re you?”
“Who’re you?”
“Trixie.”
“Brandon.”
“Where’s Beth?”
“Who’s Beth?”
Trixie glanced down both ends of the white cement block hall, narrowing her eyes at other closed doors. “Isn’t this dorm 64A?”
Brandon leaned out the hall, checking the painted numbers on the wall. “That’s what it says.”
“I was told Beth from English Lit stayed here,” she said. “I lent her my notes from class, and she forgot to give them back.”
“Well… There’s no Beth here–just me.”
She scratched the nape of her neck beneath her pixie-cut auburn hair. “Shit.”
Awkwardness grew in the air. He wasn’t sure what to do, or to say. Never once had he ever been alone with a girl, let alone at night. Then he scolded himself for thinking that the situation was somehow related to anything like that. She was given the wrong information, and ended up there, nothing more. “So… is this English Lit 101 with Ms. Ruth?”
“How’d you know?”
“I have her, too, in the afternoon. You’re going over The Yellow Wallpaper, right?”
She nodded, her silver crescent moon earrings jiggling.
“Gimme a minute.”
Brandon went to his desk, flipped through his binder, and found the notes he assumed she wanted. Tearing them out, he brought them back to her. “If you’re talking about the ones today, here they are.”
Trixie skimmed them, and looked back at him. “Are you serious? You’re just going to give me these?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I read the book a lot during high school, so the notes aren’t really important.”
“Your handwriting’s really nice,” she said. “Way better than mine…”
“Thanks,” he said, starting to close the door, but she said: “Wait! I have to pay for these or something, I can’t just take them. I’m not like that.”
“Uh… No, that’s fine. I don’t want anything.”
“How about a coffee from the cafeteria?”
“Sure,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time. “A coffee’s fine.”
“Great! Get your jacket and shoes on and we’ll go get it.”
“It’s four in the morning, the cafeteria’s closed.”
She smirked, taking a keyring from her back jean pocket. “It’s only closed to those without a key.”
He wanted to ask how she got them, but chose not to; he also wanted to say, “No, thank you” and return to bed, but this was another first for him: someone asking him to do something, a girl. Despite how exhausted he’d be later that day, he shoved his shoes on, threw on the jacket hanging on the back of the door, and followed her out of the dorms.
* * *
“So, what’re majoring in?” Trixie said, sitting across from him at one of the dozen small tables filling the empty cafeteria. She stirred her drink absentmindedly.
“Creative writing,” he said after sipping the bitter coffee, which he showed no sign of displeasure after what she did to get him the drink.
“Makes sense, with the notes and stuff.”
“Yup, you?”
“General studies, so not really a major.” She sighed, taking a sip. “Really didn’t want to major in anything.”
“Then why come–to college, I mean?”
“My dad’s gung-ho on ‘bettering my life through the next step in education,’ which is a bunch of bullshit, really.” She spun one of the many silver rings on her finger with her thumb. “But he’s all I got, so I’m here, doing the thing… Don’t know how long, though.”
“That sucks,” he said, almost taking a gulp of the foul brew, but decided against it. “What would you be doing if you stayed home? Work, or…?”
“Painting, probably. It was really the only thing I enjoyed and was good at during high school, but painting, according to everyone everywhere, isn’t a real job and I can’t expect to live off of it.”
“Well that’s bullshit. There’s hundreds of famous painters, and they seemed to live off their work without much trouble.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be Picasso or van Gogh, although Gogh was penniless when he died, so there’s that.” She set the Styrofoam cup down. “Enough about me, what’s up with your face?”
His fingers dug into the cup, and it felt like he was thrown against the wall. Words tased wrong in his mouth, every syllable uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to say–it was so out of left field, his brain hitched. He debated just getting up and leaving, but at the same time, Trixie seemed like someone he could open up to, at least a little. She wasn’t like the girls in high school who played those horrible pranks, or hounded him about his face. She seemed… different.
“I have a skin condition,” he let out. “I was born with it.”
“Is there medicine for it?”
“No, not yet at least. There’s some research being done on it somewhere in Germany, but it’s very rare.”
Trixe glanced into her cup, seemingly found it empty, and stood. As she went back to the carafe, she said: “Are they like normal acne? Like popping them and they’ll go away?”
“I avoid doing that.”
“Why?” She returned to her seat, blowing on her steaming coffee. “Wouldn’t it feel better if you did?”
He knew from experience it did, probably better than anything else he’d ever felt before, but the shame and disgust he had for himself afterwards was far stronger than the pleasure. It wasn’t normal. It was weird. It furthered the fact that he was different, a freak. And, Brandon couldn’t share that fear with anyone, ever. “No, it wouldn’t.”
Melancholy gradually filled the dark sky, and birds began chirping. Had it been two hours already? “But, hey, thanks for the coffee,” he said, rising. “I have Creative Writing in like an hour, so I need to get ready.”
“No problem,” she said, leaning back. “Wanna do this again?”
“Have coffee?”
“That or something else, like food or milkshakes.”
He didn’t want to say the word to only be shot down. “Like a…?”
“Date, yeah, sure, if that’s what you wanna call it.”
The smile couldn’t be held back. Tears were on the brink of coming out. “That’d be great. Where?”
“Let’s meet here at six, then we’ll figure something out from there.” Her eyes met his. “That sound good?”
He nodded, shocked, frozen.
“Shouldn’t you be getting to class?” she said.
“Oh, right, bye.”
Trixie waved as he hurried out of the cafeteria.
* * *
The day like his week was a blur. Hardly any school work was done, and no notes were written. This would be his first date, ever. It wasn’t the first time he was asked out on one, though. In the ninth grade Julia Stummer asked him out, and when he showed up at the roller rink he found it closed down… His parents were going out that night and dropped him off about a quarter mile from the rink on the way to the city, so he had no way to get home or contact them. So he sat and waited until they came back hours later. Brandon never admitted to his parents what happened.
And it could be the same with Trixie. He halted as he just got into his dorm. Trixie could be another Julia. He could show up to only be stood up, to only look like an idiot like before. Was it worth it? Was it worth taking the chance of dealing with the crushing hurt of being mocked, again? He looked at his bed, the desk, his work sitting in his backpack on the ground. He could stay instead, get something done or start packing for Sunday. Beat her at her own potential game.
But what if he was wrong? What if she really wanted to go out with him? He couldn’t understand what she saw in him beyond good handwriting and his acne. If he was the one who stood her up, he’d never forgive himself for screwing up the one opportunity with a girl he had been given. He exhaled, forgetting the breath he held. Brandon would take the chance, because being wrong felt worse than being right. He’d rather be hurt than hurt her.
Striding to his clothes, he sifted through them to find something nice to wear. Granted, all he brought were t-shirts, sweaters, jeans, socks; the usual, boring clothes everyone wore. Despite that, he wanted to look the best he could with what he had. She could wear whatever she wanted and she’d still look great to him, though in the back of his mind he hoped she wore something tight-fitting… Scolding himself for thinking that way, especially at this stage of whatever they were, he focused on the task at hand. After discovering cleaner, albeit not nicer, clothes, he got dressed and left his dorm.
Trixie had the same black eyeshadow, dangling silver crescent moon earring, and short hair, but wore a plain black t-shirt, belted blue jeans, and converse shoes. A coconut aroma drifted from her. She looked and smelled amazing.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Sorry, just, uh…”
She stood from the chair, adjusted her pants by pulling up on her belt. “So, anywhere you wanna go?”
“Not particularly,” he said. “I don’t know this area well. I lived in Anteaville.”
“The boonies, huh?” Trixie walked towards the door. He had to jog to catch up.
“Just about, where’re you from?”
“Cookstown.” Brandon pushed open the door for her before she got to it. They slipped out into the summer evening.
“You’re not too far from here.”
“Nope. Parents wanted me to stay nearby, just in case.”
A group of kids parted for them, but Brandon caught their remarks. Trixie didn’t seem to have heard, so he didn’t bring it up. The lush trees flanking the walkway swayed in the cooling breeze, and students sat beneath their canopies reading books, listening to their CD players, smoking, or talking to their friends. It was a nice place, yet he couldn’t ignore the ugly beneath it all. “In case of what?”
She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe they thought if it didn’t work out, it would be a quick trip back home.”
“What’d they do if you did that?” They came to a crosswalk, and he pressed the metal button on the street light. “Would they be pissed?”
“Little bit of that, maybe a little bit happy that their little girl’s come back home.” The light across the way turned white. “It’s weird, now that we’re talking about it. They didn’t want me to pursue painting as a career, which would have me staying home at the start, yet they would be secretly joyful if I left college to come back.”
“Parents are weird.” Another crosswalk to the other side, and they followed the sidewalk further into town. “My dad refused to let me stay home from high school, said to deal with it, but now… He was fine with me dropping out, going back to Anteaville.”
“Why would you drop out?” She pushed her hair behind her ear, glancing at him. “You just got here, right?”
“Ah…” Brandon didn’t know if he wanted to dump all that onto her already. He felt that was meant for later in their relationship, or at least until he knew more about her and her, him. “Just college might not be for me.”
They came to a coffee shop at the corner of the strip. Inside, hazelnut and bakery goods permeated the air. The tall tables were filled with college students, paintings hung on the olive green walls, and at the counter, they got in line. “It doesn’t have anything to do with people saying shit about you?”
How the hell had she known that? He never said a word about it. Her bluntness threw him off, again. Brandon dealt with a lot of upfront people–bullies were that type of breed–but not someone who seemed to not want to hurt him, but to cut the bullshit and get to the core of the issue to learn more about him. “Maybe.”
She ordered a decaf coffee with four splashes of cream, and he got the same, because he didn’t care what he had to drink as long as it was with her. They got their orders quickly, and he elected to pay, giving a generous tip. Blowing on her paper cup, they left the cafe and moved onto the stone patio outside. It was as packed as it was inside, but they managed to score a small table in the corner in the back where the hanging lights hardly reached.
Trixie sat on the stool across from him. “So…”
“Yeah,” he said, looking at his drink. “You were right… It’s just…”
“You don’t have to get into it, if you don’t want to.”
“I do, but it’s hard to explain without talking about high school and all that.” He rotated the cup just to give hands something to do. “To make a story short, it’s hard to deal with it now after so many years… And I don’t think I can deal with it for another four years.”
“That’s understandable.” She blew on her drink. “Really, I get it, not exactly the way you do, but I deal with that sort of bullshit all my life.”
“Really?” Brandon looked at her.
“Obviously, don’t you see my hair, my clothes, my make-up? Being a woman in general is sufferable. Growing up around pissants who think they can just touch and prod you anytime they want. I can’t count how many times a guy’s touched my tits or slapped my ass without my consent.” She laughed. “Boys will be boys and all that.”
“Didn’t the teachers do anything?”
“Did yours?”
She had a point, and he didn’t know what to say. What she had gone through felt worse than he did, both born with things they didn’t ask for to only deal with assholes growing up. Granted, bullies stopped with just beating him up, if he had been a girl, who knew what lengths they would’ve gone to prove whatever useless point they thought justified it. “Do you still go through that now?”
She shrugged. “Not as much. People don’t change much when they get older, but at least we’re a little more respectful. I’ll get cat-called once in a while, or if I’m somewhere by myself, someone may try to get handsy, but it’s way, way better than high school.”
“Well… That’s good at least.”
They fell into silence, allowing the indie music playing from the mounted speakers to fill the void of their conversation. Evening darkened and stars sprinkled the black above. “Any plans after this?” she asked.
“I have a test tomorrow to study for, but that’s about it. You?”
“Same, same. You ever been to the arcade cafe?”
He told her hadn’t.
“Do you wanna go?”
He raised his cup. “But we already got coffee.”
“What’s another going to hurt?” She grinned.
Brandon didn’t disagree.
There weren’t any people when they arrived at the building at the end of the main strip. Neon lights streamed over the walls in blue, yellow, and red, casting the narrow aisles and game machines in a dusky illuminance. Glow-in-the-dark tape was on the chipped tile floor, ensuring that no one would get lost, though Brandon wondered how someone could in such a small place.
At the scuffed counter, Trixie ordered another coffee but Brandon elected for just water. He did offer to pay for tokens, but she pushed his hand back and gave the long-haired barista a ten. After receiving a handful of gold coins, they meandered around the machines. Midi music played from each, casting nostalgia over Brandon who spent most of his childhood playing the same games at home. They stopped at a pinball machine for a movie neither knew, but Trixie said she was good at these.
He held her drink while she fed the slot the tokens, and pulled the hammer and released it. The lights from the pinball machine gleaned off her eyes, and when she smiled dimples showed. Her colored hair matched the neon, giving them a brighter glow. The arcade’s gloom gave the rest of her a dreamy appearance. Ethereal. Brandon felt like he was out of his body, enamored. Trixie looked beautiful as she pressed the white buttons, the way she was engrossed in the game. He couldn’t believe she had wanted to go out with him–he really couldn’t believe this happened all because of an accident. Although he’d only known her for a day, she gave him a glimmer of hope for college, a reason for him to stay–
“Shit!” She smacked the box as the system played a whomp whomp whomp sound, breaking him from his reverie. “Almost broke ten-thousand points.”
“You can always try again,” he said. “We have more tokens.”
Trixie took her drink from him. “Nah, shouldn’t blow all our money on just one game.” They turned around. “Anything you want to play?”
“Not in particular.” They turned at the corner. He didn’t want to admit he wanted to waste time not playing games, so the date could go on longer. “Did you play video games at home?”
She shook her head. “They weren’t allowed,” she said in a mock-baritone voice. “That’s what my dad would say if I asked for them for Christmas or something.”
At the back of the building, a tall poster of a monkey leaping over a man wearing blue overalls covered the wall. Most of the systems they found were out of order, yet they continued down the aisle. “That sucks.”
“That it does.”
Reaching the end, Trixie turned, leaning against the busted machine, and crossed her legs. Her gaze focused on him over her drink. “Wanna head to my dorm?”
Brandon halted and nearly spilled his drink over his shirt. Immediately sweat ran down his back. “What?”
“Do you want to go to my dorm?”
He almost said: “For what?” or “What about the rest of the tokens?” but stopped before the words blurted from his lips. His hands and face prickled with cold, and his stomach knotted. Another first he hadn’t expected. It was like pushing out molasses, but he said: “Yes.”
“Then, follow me.”
* * *
After Trixie snuck Brandon in through the back exit of the building, she gently closed her door. Band posters covered the walls and some of the ceiling, black clothes hung over the lamp on her desk and the overhead light was masked by pink, transparent paper, tinting the room rosy.
“Sit,” she said, and he did, avoiding the clothes piled on the unmade bed. She turned the radio on at low volume, and opened the window. A rock song he didn’t know and the murmur of outside mixed together. Kicking off her shoes, she joined him on the bed. Brandon wanted to look at her, but also didn’t. His sweaty palms glued to his lap. He was thankful he put on deodorant before leaving.
Lying back, she pulled him down with her by his shoulders. They stared at the pink-white ceiling. He wished he knew what the right thing to do was in this situation. Some girls wanted the boy to take action, make the first move; others wanted to be the ones to do it; and even more were the ones–who if the boy did make a move–would reject him outright or believe he’s a creep. From what he knew from movies and TV shows, all the signs were there for him to try, but those things weren’t reality.
Trixie rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. He side-eyed her. “You’re the first guy to not try to get into my pants.”
“Really?” He laughed. “Is that a good thing or…?”
“Little bit of both,” she said, “but more on the good than the bad.”
“Why would it be bad to not try?”
“Sometimes I like a little surprise, excitement, but… I guess that’d put you in a shitty situation, huh?”
He started to calm, relief ebbing through him. Rolling onto his side, he faced her. “Kind of, yeah. I don’t want to come off as a…”
“Weirdo?”
“Basically.”
“Well, I’m a weirdo, too, so if you’re one, at least you’re not alone in the fact.”
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”
She laughed, pushing back a stray hair behind her ear. “I called myself a weirdo, too, you know?”
“Then, can we–ah…–be weirdos, together?” Holy shit, Brandon was doing it. Despite being indirect, he hadn’t ever asked a girl to be his girlfriend, or whatever they were becoming. If, her being a weirdo, would fall under the ‘girlfriend’ category.
“Sure.” She smiled, and scooched closer to him. Her breath smelled like peppermint. “Now make the first move.”
He closed his eyes, and did.
PART II
Brandon didn’t return to his building until dawn, and immediately he raced to the payphone to call his parents. The conversation was short and to the point: he was staying at college, and he had been overreacting to the issues before. His mother asked him twice if he was sure, and he said he was. His dad was proud his son was showing those pissants who’s boss. After the call, he went to his dorm to change his clothes, sad to lose her lingering aroma, grabbed his school books, and went to class.
She filled his thoughts throughout the day. The way she looked on the bed, the hazy pink light over them, her eyes stark against the eye shadow; her doughy, soft lips against his, her hip under his hand, thumb hooked over her waistline, feeling even more plumpness held by her tight jeans; the warmth gathering, swelling between their enclosing bodies… He never had been any harder in his life, the overwhelming urge to take her, but it was beyond having sex. He wanted to be one with her, as though Trixie and him could press against one another and hold each other so tightly that they could somehow become a single entity, enraptured and entangled in each other’s limbs…
But it was their first date, and Brandon was sure she could feel him against her thigh, and she didn’t give any signals for him to venture beneath her clothes. They only kissed and cuddled; when their mouths weren’t together, they stared at the ceiling, chatting about whatever came to mind until twilight seeped in through the window. He didn’t want to leave. He never wanted to leave, but they still had class, a life outside the confines of her room. They said their goodbyes in the hall, and even though it had only been hours since then, it felt like days had gone by.
It was during the hour between class Brandon sat in the cafeteria, picking at a pepperoni-and-cheese sandwich, when a thought intruded into his mind: Was he the only one who felt like this? Did Trixie feel the same way? She was his first for nearly everything–he received his first kiss in sixth grade on a double-dare–, but he couldn’t believe he was her first. It didn’t matter, though; first or not, she and him were together, but the feelings were what mattered to him.
Brandon wasn’t an idiot. If the feeling wasn’t mutual, it would only end up in heartbreak for him; either tomorrow, next week, or next month. Hell, for all he knew, she could already have a boyfriend and he just was on the side. He cursed himself for not asking before everything unfolded, yet didn’t believe she was the cheating type–too much of a ‘no bullshit’ person. His stomach churned enough that his food made him queasy, and he couldn’t dry the sweat from his palms. Working himself up over ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes.’ He’d just have to ask, like an adult. Get it out in the open. If she didn’t, then Brandon would deal with it when it came; it was pointless to get upset about it now.
After stashing his books in his dorm after his final class, he opened his door to find Trixie preparing to knock on it. Taken aback, he said, “What’re you doing here?”
“To see you,” she said, crossing the threshold. “Why else would I be here?”
“More notes?” he said, laughing, closing the door.
“If you have them, then it would be a shame not to ask.”
She looked over his desk, some of his stuff still in the packaging box from back home. “But seriously, I came to see you.”
“I was just about to leave to see you, too.” He stood by the door, scratching the back of his head. He knew what he needed to do, but like before, the words were difficult to push out of his mouth. If he didn’t start the conversation, everything beyond that point would be useless, if she felt differently. Brandon rubbed his forehead. “We gotta talk.”
“About what?” Trixie turned, hand resting an open box.
God she was beautiful, even more than the night before. She had less make-up on, and was only in black leggings and a band t-shirt. He really didn’t want to screw everything up, but… “Do you like me?”
It hung in the air. Swelled between them. His eyes stung staring at her, expecting the worst, hoping for the best, wanting just for her to say something. She blinked a few times, grinned. “Of course I do. Why? Don’t you like me?”
“What? No! I really like you.” He stumbled forward. “I just needed to know if you felt the same.”
“I don’t go around kissing anyone,” she said, closing the space between them. “Maybe during my whore phase in high school, but not now… It’s too much work dealing with people.”
“So I’m not too much work?” He looked down at her as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Not yet.” Trixie smiled, reciprocating his action. “Now that’s outta the way–what’s the plan for the weekend?”
“Ah… we’ll figure it out.”
* * *
Friday night they decided on just hanging out at her dorm, which was roughly the same as it was the night before, although Brandon slipped his hand on her ass while they kissed on her bed, and she seemed to enjoy it by pressing up against him. Kissing gave way to making out, and as their tongues swirled around one another, he gripped her doughy rear as he got hard. The room sweltered or it was just him overheating. His cock pulsed with his rapid heartbeat and all he wanted was to tear every inch of clothing from her and take her, but she broke it off by rolling onto her back, breathing heavily.
“Not yet,” she simply said, pulling on her shirt collar. “The real good stuff doesn’t happen on a second date.”
He put his arm underneath her head, and she rested in the crook of his arm. “That’s fine,” he said, although his body wanted more, his mind didn’t. He didn’t want to disappoint her, especially in that way. It would be his first, and with his condition… “We can wait however long you want.”
“As if you have an option.” She laughed.
He joined in. “True.”
They chose to go to the local roller rink downtown on Saturday. It was cheaper than going to the movies across the parking lot. As Trixie laced her skates, Brandon sat with his on the bench along the wall. “Ever skate before?”
“A little when I was younger.” She lifted one foot then the other, making sure they fit well. “You?”
“Same, there was a small rundown place back home.” He rose, immediately grabbing the wall for balance. “It was only open during the school year, then closed in summer.”
Trixie rolled to the wall separating the scratchy carpet and the wide, lacquered rink. It was mostly kids skating. A pop song from the late 80’s issued from the speakers in the ceiling corners while in the center a disco ball spun and multicolored lights drifted around the room. Parents sat on the other benches across the way. Mothers speaking to one another, and fathers sitting around, clearly bored and waiting for the night to be over. “Weird.”
“I know, right? You’d think they’d be open in the summer.” Slowly he went to her side, hanging onto the wall with both hands. “Make more money that way.”
“You ready?”
He nodded, and Trixie darted off. Seamlessly, she glided around the other skaters, the wind brushing back her bangs. He couldn’t skate that well, but regardless, he stepped into the rink and nearly lost his balance, but Trixie was already around the rink by that time and caught his arm. “Been a while?”
Sweat covered his face. “Yeah.” Brandon didn’t remember it being this difficult, but junior high school was six years ago. “It was a lot easier back in the day.”
She held his hand, and kept at his pace until he became comfortable. They went around the rink together, avoiding the kids who fumbled onto the floor and the older folks who seemed to live on roller skates with the way they smoothly moved. Songs from bygone eras gave way to more and more until the music stopped.
“All right ladies and gentleman, it’s time to slow. it. down for the couples out there. So, if you’re alone tonight, find a partner, if not, take a break for a little while.” Lights dimmed, and the only illuminance was the light reflecting off the disco ball. People abandoned the rink, leaving behind Trixie and him, two other older couples, and two kids who couldn’t have been more than ten-years-old. A slow song came on.
“This your first time couple skating?” Brandon asked, forcing himself to not look at his feet again.
“As an adult, yeah,” she said. “But when I was younger, I went with just about anyone who’d go.”
“That fun?”
“Not really, but it was better than sitting on the shitty benches with the guys who loved snapping my bra.”
“Can’t blame you then.”
She laughed. “The wonderful life of a teenage girl and hormones.”
“I never couple skated before,” he said. “You’re my first.”
“Really?” She glanced at him. “Never?”
Suddenly he felt tears on the brink of coming, but he willed them to stay put. “Let’s just say I wasn’t the ladies man as you see me today.”
“Shit happens, Brandon. Not everyone will like you, especially then.” She smiled. “But, I like you, so that should be the only thing that matters now anyway.”
He sharply inhaled. The tears were coming, even though she had been reassuring. Felt the tingling over his face. He didn’t want to cry in front of her, in front of strangers, on their third date. Panic grew inside him but as they were coming, the song stopped and the lights came back on. “Okay, okay you couples get a room and let everyone else get out there.”
“Wanna get something to eat?” she said over the din.
“Sure.”
There was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant a block away, and they took their time getting there. The tears were momentarily calmed, pulling his focus out of his head. Inside wasn’t too busy, and they ordered their food at the counter and found a table in the back to sit. A waiter came by and got their drink orders. When he returned, Brandon felt like he needed to chug the entire water to cool down. He still was embarrassed about almost crying in front of her, and he hoped she didn’t notice. Their food came soon, and they made small talk as they ate.
After paying and heading back to campus, he walked her back to her dorm building. Pressure compounded in his head. The food churned in his stomach. He was overthinking what could’ve happened as though it truly did happen. Brandon couldn’t understand why he was acting like this, why he couldn’t act normal when everything had been great. What heat the chill air cooled ramped back up. They stood underneath the floodlight above the twin-doors as a tall girl in pajamas shivered while she smoked.
“Wanna come up?” she asked while he embraced her. “I can sneak you in again.”
“No, the skating really took a lot of me,” he lied. The smoking girl stole glances at them, or him specifically. “I think I just need to sleep.”
“Oh… What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Studying.” He met the tall girl’s gaze. She blew out a gray cloud. “Have a quiz on Monday that I really don’t wanna fail.”
“Well can we hang out after?” She twirled her finger over his chest. “Get food or something?”
“Maybe.” The girl grinned, holding back a laugh, and Brandon wanted to melt into the ground and seep into the dirt. Even with Trixie in his arms, he couldn’t shake caring about being looked at, teased, for his condition. Coupled with anxiety and paranoia swirling inside his head already, he wanted to sprint back home. Not his dorm. Home home. “I’ll drop by if I can, okay?”
“Sounds good, I guess…”
Brandon kissed her forehead, and slipped out from her arms and beelined to his dorm.
He slammed the door, leaning against it, and grabbed handfuls of his hair. The tears came unabated. It irritated his skin when he tried to clear them, so he let them just go because why the hell not? He was alone now. This was what he wanted, but really did he? If he thought about it–no, it wasn’t what he wanted, not at all. But it was like another part of him, some inner segment of the totality of who he was, controlled by deep-seated fear. It was sort of fear that was ingrained into the foundation of his psyche, one in which he couldn’t ignore or shake, one he didn’t want to show anybody ever, because why would he?
Why would someone want to share the weakness, most pathetic part about themselves to another? It was meant to be pushed down, cast into the shadows, barred in the darkness until it inevitably broke its way out to be forced back into the pits where it belonged. And for it to almost come out on the rink, with Trixie, it was too much. Far too much. He didn’t want to ruin what he had already because of his bullshit from when he was a kid. Brandon was an adult for God’s sake. And, this was all on-top of the fact he had yet to address his skin condition with her beyond the throwaway excuses he used in passing. She didn’t deserve that.
His grip tightened, yanking. He closed his eyes tightly, failing to dam the tears. But it was over. He was in his dorm. She was in hers. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he could come up with a better excuse by morning to not see her until Monday. As much as he wanted to, he wanted more not to screw everything up. One day for potentially hundreds more. It seemed reasonable putting it that way… His breathing calmed, tears dried, and he put his head up. Moonlight came in through the window. He could be seeing the same thing from her bed if he wasn’t like this. Everything would be better, easier, if he was normal. But here he was on the floor, sobbing. Eventually he decided he needed to sleep, or at least need to try, so slowly he got to his feet.
* * *
Knocking woke him. He lay in bed, unmoving, hoping the knock was on another door or someone had made a mistake. Early morning bled in from outside. Birds chirped. Brandon started closing his eyes–knock, knock, knock.
“Who is it?” he groggily shouted, lifting his head.
“Who do you think?”
“Shit…” Rolling out of bed, he plodded to the door and opened it. Trixie still wore her plaid pajama bottoms, long, faded band t-shirt, and slippers. “Uh… hi?”
She shouldered past him, and he closed the door as he turned to face her. Again, they were in the same spot they were a day or two ago. Her by the desk, him at the door. Déjà vu briefly washed over him.
“What happened last night?” she said, crossing her arms. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brain held nothing to help. “No,” was all he managed to say.
“Then what was it? Something happened, and if you and I are going to be doing this dating thing, we’re not going to be like my parents who just ignore shit or avoid touchy subjects because they’ll fight over it. We have to be upfront with one another.”
“I want that, too.”
“Then, what the fuck?”
Brandon didn’t want to be doing this at all, let alone before the sun was up, but the way Trixe’s glare burrowed into him, it didn’t seem possible to push the issue aside until another time. If he wanted her, this, then he’d have to be open, honest… But why did the right thing feel so wrong?
“I got embarrassed.” He sighed, looking at the floor. “I… ah… It’s stupid, really, but during skating… It’s just that…” Again, tears tempted to spill, but she said no secrets, right? “I didn’t want to cry in front of you.”
Her glare laxed, brow unfurrowed. She uncrossed her arms. “Why would you cry?”
He wiped his eyes. “Dumb, I know, but I was embarrassed about you being my first to skate with.” He put up his hands. “And, I know you were nice about it, and reassured me it didn’t matter, and I know it really doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, but… I don’t know, it seemed important then. Stupid to be upset over, but here we are.”
“I don’t think that’s all,” she said, calmly. “I don’t want to push you to tell me things you aren’t comfortable with, but I really think there’s more than just skating.”
She was right. He didn’t want her to be right. But it had to be said. It was now or never. If she wasn’t going to leave him over his insecurities, might as well be now rather than later. He smiled, despite the situation, and sat on the edge of his bed. Unfolding his hands between his lap, he said: “It’s this whole thing–you and me–but mainly me. You’re my first real girlfriend, Trixie; first real everything. And I know it’s only been like a week since we started talking, but I just… I just don’t want to fuck it up, you know?” He put his face in his hands, tears sliding down his palms. “So much of me is not knowing what to say or do, and just hoping whatever I guess is the right choice. And, not only that–it’s my skin condition and what people will think about you for being with someone like me. You’re so damn beautiful, and just…”
He felt her weight next to him, her hand on his lap, her head against his shoulder. “Your skin doesn’t bother me, and I could care less what people think of me or us. I chose you for you, Brandon; not because other people thought you weren’t hot. You shouldn’t care about what they think, either–”
“But–”
“–But nothing.” She took his hand into hers, sliding it between her legs. “Every asshole in the world could think we’re not meant to be together, and I could give a shit less. The only thing that matters is what you and I think. And don’t stress about the little stuff with me. I’m very easy to handle, low maintenance as some would say… But I’ll tell you one thing, Brandon.”
Sitting up, he looked at her. She was crying, too. “You will fuck up,” she simply said, staring at the wall across from them. “But that’s okay, because I will fuck up, too. Everyone fucks up at some point, but what matters is what you do after fucking up. If you just fuck up and do nothing to fix your shit, then yeah, that’s on you; but if you do and fix it or at least try to, then that just shows you’re not a real fuck up.”
“I’ve never heard someone say, ‘fuck’ that many times at once before,” he said, laughing.
She laughed, too, wiping her eyes and sitting straight. “Well, you get my point, right?”
“Yeah… Doesn’t help feeling like I do, but probably with time, that’ll change.”
They sat in silence, wiping their eyes and sniffling, as the sun rose and light basked the room. People walked up and down the hallway. Doors opened and closed. Chitter-chatter peppered the air. Either a lot of people signed up for extra classes or tutoring, or many were going to church, Brandon couldn’t say.
“What do you want to do now?” Trixie said.
He yawned. “Go back to sleep.”
“Sounds good to me.”
PART III
Brandon had never spent so much time with a person as he did with Trixie the following week. Every night they either hung out at one of their dorms, or went out for coffee downtown, or just sat around campus, shooting the shit. It was like he was with his best friend, an ease to the relationship he didn’t expect. After their conversation Sunday, everything felt simple.
He could be himself wholeheartedly without–too much–worry, and soon learned Trixie and him had a lot in common, but also not a lot in common. Which was fine, not everyone can like the same things. She loved sour foods while he loathed them; he wasn’t a big fan of concerts or places with loud noises while she loved going to concerts and shows; he rathered staying at home on the weekends, but she enjoyed being out and about whenever she could.
Little by little, his reluctance to speak about his condition wavered. Bits and pieces were given when asked, but Trixie never pushed for anything more than what Brandon was willing to provide. He trusted her. Knew she wouldn’t use it to harm him in any way. Yet the deep-seated fear was seemingly rooted into the foundation of who he was, but she was slowly digging it out.
Before they realized, it was Saturday again, and they were in her dorm. Cold air blew through the open window as soft rock music drifted out into the night. An upturned stack of playing cards and a half-eaten bag of salt-and-vinegar chips were on the floor at their feet hanging over the bed. She was on top of him, his hands underneath the back of her unzipped jeans, cupping her ass. Tongues pressed against one another. Bottom lips were bitten. Trixie sat up, breath heavy.
“You okay?”
She nodded, pulling off her shirt and tossing it aside. Her pale breasts held by a plain black bra. “Just fucking hot in here.”
“That’s probably because you’re here.”
She laughed. “Wanna make it hotter, then?”
Immediately blood rushed into his cock, pressing against his pants. Trixie glanced down, then back to him. “Guess so.”
She undid her bra, throwing it in the direction of her shirt. Small, pink nipples from supple breasts. Not huge like some women he’d seen in porn, but not small, either. Brandon didn’t know cup sizes, but he’d guess a C cup. It didn’t matter to him either way, because they fit perfectly in his hands. Trixie rolled off of him, pulling down her jeans and underwear, and he frantically did the same. It was happening. His heart hammered against his chest, and he felt a little queasy from the adrenaline and excitement, but he told himself to calm down, to relax. He didn’t want to finish before it even started.
She grabbed his hard cock while he wrapped his arm around her, grabbing her doughy backside. They made out as she stroked him. He already wanted to come–Brandon broke off. “I don’t have a condom.”
“It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”
Then they were back at it. She bent her leg to the side, and he slid his hand between her thighs. Her shaved pussy was already wet, and he rubbed her clit. Trixie shuttered, letting out a deep sigh. Her unmoving grip held his dick while he kissed her cheek, her neck, and sucked on her nipple while sliding two fingers into her. It was warm and open, and he bent his fingers upwards, pressing against the cavity just above her lips. She leaned in and bit his shoulder, dragging her fingernails down his back. “I want you,” she said.
He slid out from her, hooked his arm under her thigh, and rolled on top of her. He lifted her other leg up onto his shoulders, and spit in his hand. He stopped. Trixie lay naked before him, far more beautiful than ever before. Her hands gently playing with her breasts, her pale pouch flatter on her back. Their eyes met. It felt surreal. It felt like a dream. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but to question it may ruin it. He reapplied the spit and coated himself before pushing into her.
“Fuck,” he moaned. Brandon was immediately at the brink of bursting. Her enveloping his throbbing dick was probably the best thing he ever felt in his life. He wanted it to last forever, but he could barely last five minutes. But, slowly, he thrusted his hips, watching her breasts bounce.
“Faster,” she said, and he listened. His hands grasped her rear while picking up momentum. Her skin clapped against his, and he pushed deeper, pressing into her as though he could go any further than his dick allowed. Sweat coated their bodies. The night air did nothing to abate the heat. Her breath heavy on his face. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her fingers digging into his back.
“I’m gonna–” He couldn’t hold it any longer.Cum spurted from his cock, filling her. His heart was in his throat, thrumming in his temples. It was like every ounce of energy he had drained from him. Suddenly he was cool. Sperm trickled out from the tiny spaces between them. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re fine, no need to apologize,” she said, “but I still need to get off.”
He nodded, slipping out from her, and kneeling onto the floor, he pulled her to the edge of the bed by her thighs. “Are you sure?” Trixie looked down at him between her breasts. “You finished inside me.”
In answer, he licked her clit, causing her to shutter. “Oh, shit…” His tongue made circles around her clit, broken only by him nibbling on it as gently. Her legs shivered, and she clenched onto the comforter. Brandon started fingering her while he increased his speed, lapping at her pussy. “Can you…” she breathed.
“What?” he said quickly, mouth and chin glazed. “Can I what?”
“Can you put a finger in…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. He lathered his pointer on his other hand and carefully pressed into her asshole. “Fuck.” Returning to her clit, he fingered her in both holes while she moaned and writhed, bucking her hips against his mouth, then suddenly her body went rigid, as though she clenched every muscle, and abruptly relaxed. Her legs draped over the edge of the bed, and he pulled his fingers out from her.
Lying next to her, they basked in the sex afterglow. Her hand found his, still wet with her juices. “You did amazing,” she said.
“Even for my first time?”
“I’ve been with men who’ve whored around that hardly knew what to do with pussy.”
He laughed. “You were amazing, too.”
Trixie rolled over, cuddling against him. He wrapped his arm around her. “I’m tired.”
Although, surprisingly, he was prepared to go again with her still naked, he didn’t bother to push it any further. There were more chances to come, he knew. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
* * *
The previous week was the same as the following week, except for spending time outside or hanging out in their dorms, they were having sex. His dorm. Her dorm. In the park at night behind the bushes leading to the riverbank. A quickie before class and after. A blowjob before he had to study, and eating her out before she had to study. It was amazing, hot, unbelievable. Brandon figured he was having so much sex now it made up for the years of not having it. And, even with it, their feelings for one another grew stronger, as if exchanging bodily fluids increased their fondness for each other.
She sat on his blanket on the floor of his dorm, wiping his cum from her face and breasts with an old t-shirt, and he sat on the edge of the bed. His cock wilted, lying limp against the mattress. Perspiration coated both of them, a subtle sheen under the fluorescent light.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, tossing the shirt onto his dirty laundry, and crawled over to him. She placed her arms on his lap, and rested her face on her arms.
“Yeah,” he said, still out of breath. “Anything.”
“When will you trust me enough to talk about your skin condition?”
A bolt of lightning shot through him. Trixie surely felt his muscles clench. “Ah… I trust you, a lot, but…”
She sat up, gaze meeting his. “But what? I understand it’s a touchy subject, but you’ve came on almost every part of me, and you’re still scared to open up to me about it?”
Well, if she put it that way, Brandon saw it as silly to withhold the information any longer. She had opened up to him in every way possible, and he did, too, except for this one thing. For God’s sake, they were sitting together naked. Not having sex. Not trying to have sex. Just having a conversation, like normal, and he was perfectly okay with it. He never imagined that’d ever happen.
“Fine.” He sighed. “It’s called cystpermia–”
“You’ve told me that already.”
“Shush.” He put his hand on her head. “It’s rare, like super rare, maybe every one person out of a million gets it. It’s, ah…” He inhaled deeply into his chest. “I don’t remember exactly how the doctors explained it, but basically the sperm tubes are malformed during pregnancy, and somehow travels throughout the body, but stops at the face, causing the acne…” Heat swelled in his face. He couldn’t believe he was admitting this to her. Brandon looked at the open window, to the outside, to anywhere than where he was.
“So… Basically, they’re filled with sperm?”
He nodded.
“And when you pop them, do they…”
“Feel like an orgasm?”
“Yeah.”
“…Yeah.” And, this would be the moment that lies down the roots of their relationship. If she rejected him, he would be embarrassed, shell-shocked, would get dressed and get on the next bus back to home; never trust anyone again, would hardly see or speak to anyone again, either. He was more open before her than anyone before. He waited for a response, for anything, in the palpable silence. She made no noise, no indication he even said anything…
“Can we try it?” she said, and he snapped towards her. She was staring up at him, his hand still on her head. “Like does it still work, even if you’ve finished normally?”
“I…” Was she actually serious? “I.. don’t know. I never tried.”
“Well can we?”
“You’re not freaked out?” He had to ask, had to know she wasn’t screwing with him. “Like at all?”
“No!” She sat on her heels, breasts displayed. “Not at all. I mean, yeah, it’s weird for a disease, but you’re not weird for having it. It’s not like you wanted it, right?”
He shook his head.
“Then, let’s make the best of it, if you’re okay with that.”
And, he was. What burden he had carried with the secret had been lifted. Trixie accepted him wholly for who he was and what he had. There was nothing left to hide or avoid speaking about. He loved her, Brandon realized. Honestly, loved her. Tears welled up, but he didn’t push them down. He let them come as he smiled.
She put her hand on his leg. “Is everything okay? Did I say something?”
“No,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Nothing at all.” He turned the attention back to what she asked. “How do you want to do this? Should I get on top, or…?”
“Good question…” Trixie lay back onto the sheet on the floor. “You can kneel around my belly, and do it on my tits?”
He followed instructions, because she could’ve suggested almost anything and he’d been fine with it. Hovering his face above her breasts, he reached for his cheek to only be stopped by her hands. “Wait, I wanna do it.”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Seems more fitting.”
Brandon didn’t argue, holding himself up by his hands now. Gently she caressed his face, and stopped at his left cheek. He closed his eyes as she started putting pressure, the skin beginning to sting between her thumbs, then inside his head he heard skin splitting. His eyes opened and he let out a gasp when electricity ran from his face to his dick, causing it to twitch, seeing cum squirt from the pimple burst across her tits.
“Do it again,” he quickly said.
She moved onto another nearby. It popped with more than the last, and Brandon became hard. He wet his dick with saliva and slid into her once more.
“Again.” He started thrusting deep inside her, pressing his groin against her pelvis. Another was ruptured, and cum ran down her cleavage and her sides. She moaned, her thighs wrapped around his legs. One gave way to one more to another, and so on and the sensation coursing through his body made him go faster, harder, until he was hammering her pussy like never before. Cum ran down his face, trickling onto her belly.
One of her hands gripped his shoulder while the other gripped the dampening sheet beneath her. Her face was beat red, and sweat stood out on both of them. Heat swelled in the room and she dug her fingernails into his skin as her body froze for a prolonged moment, then relaxed as her thighs convulsed until she released a long-held sigh of pleasure. She closed her eyes, letting him finish. He sat up, still pumping, and popped the remaining acne himself. Short spurts of cum shot over her, onto her, on the floor and in her hair. He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t resist the rush flooding him with every pop. Each felt like it inflated his dick, expanding inside her somehow. It probably was his mind, but it didn’t matter, because it was happening and as he pressed the last one on his forehead, he finally came. Not as much as the first time, but enough to where he felt beyond drained, beyond exhausted. His face throbbed as much as his cock did. Trixie was covered from her trimmed pubes to her forehead. It made him want to try to get hard again, but there wasn’t anything left.
But, Brandon knew he couldn’t leave her like this, as much as a turn on it was. He snatched a towel from by his bed and wiped her down the best he could with what he had, ensuring she got it from under her chin, beneath her breasts, in-between her belly folds. Once done, he lay next to her on the floor, the cold concrete welcome against his sweaty back. She nuzzled against him, leg thrown over his, arm over his chest.
The silence was blissful, yet wanting. It felt like something needed to be said after everything–not just the sex, but before that, ever since she showed up at his room randomly weeks ago. Their friendship-to-relationship blossomed into something real, concrete; a thing he wanted to remain for as long as possible. The future was unknown but together, he honestly didn’t care what it would bring. She accepted him and he accepted her, so the only three words that could come close to how he felt left his lips.
And, smiling, she said them back.