Part 2 (1/2)

I remembered what she told me before about not knowing if she loved Ray or not. Even though she hadn't said anything about that for a while, I didn't think she'd much like licking his a.s.s if she didn't love him.

”It's not like a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b,” I said. ”You're really, really with someone when you do it.”

”But you like it.”

”I like to do it and I like to have it done.”

Even though she didn't say anything else to me, I knew she understood that this was another thing I'd learned and needed her to know. That was the kind of friends we were.

5.

THAT June, right before we graduated, Del's mom and dad went away for a weekend for their anniversary. Del and his brother Frank divided up the nights to use the house. I wanted to stay the whole weekend, but Del didn't want to be in the house with Frank around.

”Why not?”

”I hate that son of a b.i.t.c.h,” Del said. ”I know he's going to do something and I'll get blamed for it.”

The two of them were always fighting. Del had four older brothers, but Frank was the only one still at home. He was a year older than Del, and even though Del was nineteen and too old to boss around, Frank still tried to do it. Their dad ran an auto salvage yard on top of his regular job, and a lot of the work of breaking down cars for parts fell to Frank and Del. The two of them were always fighting over who should do what. Other times, whatever fight one of them was having with the old man spilled over into a fight with the other brother. Del thought his brother was a liar who would say anything to get out of trouble or make things better for himself. He wouldn't even call Frank by his name but referred to him as ”you know who.” When he did that, I sometimes wanted to laugh, but then I'd see the look on Del's face and I wouldn't laugh.

”Why doesn't he move out already?” I said, but Del didn't answer me.

He said, ”Just be ready on Sat.u.r.day,” and I knew better than to make any suggestions.

ON THE big day, Del brought me out to the house around five, and we drank a six-pack and smoked cigarettes, right there in his mom's kitchen with her embroidered tea towels all around. We could have gone upstairs to Dels bedroom as soon as I got in the house, but we didn't. I think we were both trying to save that, because we knew we could f.u.c.k all night if we wanted, and because it was good just to be together in the house.

”I'm making a steak dinner for us,” he told me when we finished the six-pack. ”We'll eat up some of the old man's G.o.dd.a.m.n steaks.”

I didn't say anything when he told me what else he was making, which was baked potatoes, corn, and Tater Tots. They were his favorite foods, and it didn't matter to him if they were all starches. He was cooking, and I was impressed by it. I liked sitting on the hard kitchen chair and watching him do stuff. He wore jeans but no s.h.i.+rt, and I knew that was for me. I loved to watch his heartbeat make his skin jump, there at the base of his neck, and I loved to kiss the heartbeat place and the hollows his collarbone made. But then, I loved everything about Del-the riot of his teeth and the smell of his mouth and the color of his b.a.l.l.s.

Del did a good job cooking. Everything came out okay, and it was even done about the same time. Still, I had a hard time even putting away half of what he served me, and in the end I had to push back my plate with most of the food still on it.

”You have to eat more than that,” he said.

”If I wasn't drinking maybe I could.”

”Girls are always like that. They hardly eat anything.”

”I ate. My jeans are already tight.”

”Give it here, then,” Del said, and reached across the table for my plate. ”Take off your jeans if they're too tight.”

”I'm just going to undo the top b.u.t.ton.”

”Are you going to unzip them for me?” he said, and from the way he talked and the way he looked at me, I could tell it pleased him as much as it did me to be sitting at the table like that, me with my jeans open and him with his s.h.i.+rt off.

”Naw,” I said. ”Finish your dinner.”

I watched him shovel the food in and he knew I was watching, so he made a purposeful show of it. He wasn't rude-he just did everything in a way that would hold my eyes. He kept looking from the plate to me, and kept his eyes on me when he chewed and swallowed. I liked watching the muscles in his jaw and cheeks move, and I kept wondering if he had a hard-on, because I could already feel the fluttering starting inside me.

When he finished the last mouthful and laid the fork on the table, he said, ”You're dessert.”

”What about you?”

”I'm dessert, too,” he said, and put on a goofy grin. He looked like a crazy kid and he made me laugh.

When Del got up from the table then to put some of our dishes in the sink, I didn't help him. Instead I went to stand in the back doorway. I stretched both my arms over my head and leaned the side of my face and one of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the wooden door frame. Even though I had never moved like that before, something in my body knew how to do it, and I could feel in the small of my back what I must look like with my a.s.s jutting out like that.

When Del turned from the sink to get dishes he saw me. And he came to me, just the way my body knew he would.

He pressed along my a.s.s and my thighs, and in a few seconds he unzipped and started poking and b.u.mping against me. I let myself feel that for a while, then I unzipped my own jeans and pushed down my panties. I didn't turn to see Del's face-I just stood on my tiptoes so he could get in me.

We f.u.c.ked in the door for a long time, and though my s.h.i.+rt was still on, I could feel the breeze coming through the screen on the wet place between my legs. Just when my feet and calves were starting to ache from standing on tiptoe, he pulled away and said, ”Jesus, Vangie, let's go upstairs.”

When I turned to look at him, I saw his c.o.c.k slick with me. Maybe it was because we were inside a house instead of outside or in a car, but he looked like a stranger to me just then. In the dim kitchen-the room was lit only by the light above the stove-his face was filled with shadows. He looked angry. But I knew if I could see my own face it would be serious and intent, and I figured it was wanting that was changing Del's face.

It didn't embarra.s.s me anymore to be the one on top for sixty-nine, so upstairs in Del's room I spread my c.u.n.t open over Del's mouth and face. The more he licked me, the better it felt to have something in my mouth to suck on, but the more excited I got, the harder it was to keep my head moving up and down. Part of it felt like trying to walk on a railroad track, and the other part of it was like being underwater. I kept trying and trying, and then I couldn't try anymore, and I came.

I scooted up on the bed then and lay beside Del, ran my hand over his chest and belly. When he was lying down, his stomach scooped out under his ribs. I put my nose and mouth to his skin, licked his side and up into his armpit. He had his arm around me, and his one hand was running up and down my spine, from the small of my back to my nape. He hadn't come yet, so I said, ”How do you want it?” I wanted to know if I should lie on my back or on my belly.

”I want your a.s.s, Vangie.”

I didn't say anything then. It didn't bother me that Del wanted to f.u.c.k that way, but the few times when we did it, it hurt, and I'd had to make myself stand it. It still scared me, but I wanted to do it, too. Part of me wondered why I wanted to do something that frightened me, but being with Del was about not saying no. If I said no, the next thing couldn't happen.

”Do you have some lotion?” I said.

He pulled baby oil out from under his bed. ”I thought it would work better,” he said.

”You have to go slow in the beginning.”

”I remember.”

So I lay facedown on the bed and let him oil up behind me. He did himself first, then started coating me with his fingers, slipping in one at first, then two. When he got between my legs and I felt him get ready to move into me, I reached around to take him in my hand.

”Guide me in, Vangie.”

I took him in inch by inch, and when he was all the way up, I let myself start breathing again.

”How does it feel?”

”All right,” I said. ”Better with oil. How does it feel to you?”

”Tight as h.e.l.l. Good.”