5
When it Happens
Baya
Fall breaks out in a spectacular show of glory over Whitney Briggs University. It brings all of the wonder and drama it can afford as it slowly turns the campus into an auburn-colored wonderland. Leaves in every shade of gold, brown, russet, fawn, and jade decorate the walkways, but my favorite are the ones that look as though they’ve been smeared with lovers blood. The indelible stain of a secret covenant made between two people who’ve sworn to belong to one another forever. That’s what I’m hoping will happen this weekend. Not the actual slitting of the wrists and mashing of bloodlines. I’m just hoping for a good old fashion love story to write itself across the night sky in shooting orgasmic stars. Actually, I’m sort of hoping for multiple cosmic events to occur and in rather quick succession. I envision Bryson lying over me, pouring a fire into my mouth by way of his—that rock hard body pressing into mine until we’re weak with passion, aching for more, just satisfying the hunger we have for one another in one long fornicating loop that puts all of Jeanie Waters collective efforts to shame. I’ve never made love to anyone before, I’ve never had any kind of sex whatsoever, heck, I don’t even have a hand job under my belt, but, nevertheless, I know it’ll be incredible because I’ll have Bryson right there with me—inme. And it all seems far too incredible to imagine.
“Brighton!” A female voice calls from behind as I lug my weekend bag with me across campus. Bryson thought it’d be a good idea if we left separately, so I’ve been roaming aimlessly since this afternoon, familiarizing myself with the nooks and crannies of Whitney Briggs only to find they already house warm bodies, and the last thing those warm bodies are doing in those nooks and crannies is studying for midterms. It’s as if all of Whitney Briggs has caught Jeanie’s fornicating fever. Honest to God, someone should call the HAZMAT team to contain the syphilis outbreak before it reaches epidemic proportions and storms the world as the new killer plague. It would figure that Jeanie Waters’ crotch has the potential to unleash cataclysmic atrocities on all mankind.
Laney waves me over to the outdoor patio at Hallowed Grounds, and I head in that direction. Roxy is with her, and they’ve got a plethora of textbooks and notebooks spread out over the table, implying that actual studying might be taking place. Obviously its crunch time, but, technically, midterms aren’t for another two weeks, so I refuse to be intimidated by their scholastic show of bravado. Why sweat it when I can sweat with Bryson? I say screw Whitney Briggs, and I’ll screw Bryson Edwards, too. A million lousy jokes have been waging an assault on my frontal lobe all afternoon because, face it, I’m about to have my V-card revoked, and I’m scared spitless. Sarcasm has always helped me cope when life throws me a couple of hairy curve balls, and if stupid shit racking my brain helps me through the ordeal then I say bring it and its long, hard, one-eyed bat, too. Besides, sex with Bryson is in the bounds, and it’s all I can do to keep a pornographic bubble from forming over the top of my head for the entire world to see. I feel transparent, naked in a crowd of thousands—the virgin who’s about togo all the way, shaking in her proverbial FMs. It’s not at all what I envisioned this time in my life would be like.
“What’s up, chica?” Laney pulls out a seat for me, and I plop down between them. “You on tonight?”
“No, but I’ll be hanging with the boss does that count?” I bite down on my lip and watch as their faces ignite like street lamps. Clearly we’ve treaded into the red-light district, so already I know where this conversation is headed.
They break out in a choir ofoohs,and I blush at the thought of what might happen tonight.
“Someone at this table dated her b-o-s-s once.” Roxy glances at Laney, and they have a mini standoff complete with a silent argument.
“Did you date Bryson?” My hand flies to my chest in horror. I like Laney and the last thing I want to do is imagine her naked while wrestling with my boyfriend.Boyfriend. I swoon into the idea.
“No!” She shakes her head, and her dark hair whips around in the wind. “Notthatboss—another boss. It turns out he wasn’t really my anything.” She lowers her gaze to the table.
“It was my brother,” Roxy offers. “And it ended badly.” She says that last part so low I hardly heard it. “So where’s the big date?” Roxy bears into me, changing the subject rather efficiently.
“It’s sort of a weekend thing.” I shrug. “He’s taking me to his house.”
“Shut up.” Laney straightens. Her mouth falls open as if I’d just announced we were planning to elope.
“Yes.” I nod incredulously. “He was going home, and he just sort of invited me to come along. Plus, this way, we can keep things under the radar just a little bit longer.” I filled them in earlier in the week about our plan to keep Cole in the dark until we’re ready. Bryson is still convinced he won’t see the next day once we tell him. Of course, he’s right. In fact, if Cole finds out, my newfound boyfriend is as good as dead. Cole is pretty focused on keeping my virginity intact for the next fifty years or so, never mind the fact he’s nothing more than a human dildo to the female population of Whitney Briggs. I bet all the sorority girls say,why bother with batteries when you can bed Cole Brighton? He’s the Eveready penis!
“So where does your brother think you’re going?” Roxy gives a coy smile as if she were proud of my dubious endeavor.
“Pluto,” I tease. “A.k.a.—bookcamp.” I shake my head at the literary lunacy of it all. “It was all I could think of that he might remotely approve of. Little does he know my book boyfriend just morphed into the real deal, and his name happens to be Bryson Orgasm-on-Demand Edwards.”
The two of them break out in cackles.
“Bookcamp!” Roxy sighs. “Is there such a thing?”
“No clue. But, if there’s not, there should be. It sounds like a great cover for just about any story—get it? Story?” They groan in unison.
“Baya”—Laney leans in—“Bryson is taking you to his house, to meet hisfamily. This is really a big step for him.” Her pale skin glows against the backdrop of the late afternoon. It’s been getting dark so early. It feels like midnight by four o’clock. It’s exhausting and hauntingly erotic all at the same time.
“It’s a big step for me, too.” Not that I’ll be volunteering to haul him to Texas anytime soon. I’m pretty sure Mom would string him up by the balls if he even looked at me in a sexual manner. “I mean we’ll be with his family, so it’ll practically be a platonic weekend.”
“Platonic? I’m pretty sure that’s not in his lexicon. So—whatarethe sleeping arrangements, anyway?” Roxy narrows in on me as she cuts to the nocturnal chase.
Sleeping arrangements? That sweet spot between my thighs spasms at the thought of sleeping under the same roof, let alone the samebed,as Bryson. I wonder if one can have too many orgasms, and how exactly I might explain this to the ER staff once I can’t stop convulsing with pleasure.
“Like I said, his mom will be there, so we’ll probably sleep in separate rooms. I’ll probably crash on the couch. God knows I’m used to it.”Godwhat if she’s one of those liberal moms who totally roots for her kids to hook up under her roof? What if she’s out right now buying candles and specialty condoms that light up just to make the occasion oh so special? I shake the thought out of my head. My mother would be stocking up on pepper spray and stun guns—a rape whistle and a club.
“When there’s a hard-on, there’s a way.” Laney nods into her hormonal theory. “He wants you.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Bad.”
“So have you done it yet?” Roxy crinkles her nose as she awaits my salacious response.
“No, we haven’t doneit, so I’m pretty sure our first time won’t be with his mom in the next room listening to the headboard rattle. That’s one of the reasons I’m dying to get away from Cole’s apartment. I’m so sick of listening to him wallop his trollops night after night. You’d think the neighbors would have called the swat team by now the way it sounds like machine gun fire is exploding from his bedroom. It’s like a hostage situation in there or a really loud marathon of Scar Face going on, but the only one getting scarred around there is me—emotionally.”
Laney spits her coffee just past my shoulder.
