I grab her by the hair, forcing her mouth onto my rapidly hardening cock. “Who said I was leaving tomorrow morning?”
“Of course you hate horror movies,” she tells me, as we sit naked on the Porn Couch, eating ice cream for dinner.
It’s now tomorrow night.
“Of course you love horror movies,” I shoot back.
She shrugs. “Let me guess. You’re a documentary guy.”
I shrug. “I enjoy learning about things.”
“You mean you like that you know how the documentary is going to end,” she says, like the brat she is. “Because it’s about an event that’s already happened?—”
I bite her boob. This gives me an idea with melted ice cream…
“No,” she says, reading my face and shoving me away. “I need a break, you monster. Plus, I’m not trying to get a UTI.”
I apologize to my dick for her.
“We’re watching a horror movie,” she says suddenly. She grabs the remote and pulls something up called Paranormal Activity.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Paranormal?”
She pulls a blanket over us. “In case you get scared,” she says.
I scoff. “O-kay.”
An hour later, both of us are under the blanket.
“What the fuck, Georgia?” I whisper hysterically, my heartbeating so fast I feel like I’m going to go into cardiac arrest. “How can you enjoy this?”
She squeals with glee. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen this part. Why are you whispering?”
“You don’t even watch the movie?!” I am shouting in my loudest possible whisper voice. “No wonder you love horror movies. You don’t watch the scary parts!”
“Told you it was scary,” she says, peeking up over the blanket, squeaking, then throwing it back over her again.
“It’s not scary,” I mutter, choosing to remain under the safety of the blanket. “It’s fucking terrifying.”
We go to bed with every light in her apartment on.
We fuck around. It’s quite nice. It’s not bad, despite the James Bond level sneaking around Georgia has to do to get into my apartment once Eloise comes back. Despite the mild panic attack I have each time. Despite the twenty feet of distance I keep between us at school at all times.
Is it worth it, though?
It might be, especially after certain moments, like when Georgia forces me to leave our sex dungeon to go on random adventures around the city. Staten Island Ferry. A spa on Governor’s Island. Fun bars in the West Village and in Bed-Stuy.
It could be worth it, especially after one Saturday on the train home from the Bronx Zoo, when we run into a massive group of twenty-somethings dressed in full formalwear and giant headphones, inexplicably dancing in the subway car.
Georgia grins, taking in the group, silently dancing to the beat of the same song. The headphones they are wearing are all apparently linked via Bluetooth to one DJ’s phone. They areswinging around on poles, dancing on the seats. Georgia informs me that this is called a “silent disco”.
“It’s funny watching them do this with no music,” she tells me.
She laughs when one of them hands us two pairs of headphones. Georgia takes one and wears them and takes the other and plops them on my head. The sound of a heavy, driving EDM song blasts into my ears, and together we join the rave on the train. My cheeks hurt from smiling. Georgia procures a pair of sunglasses that light up around the edges. She makes me wear them.
Eventually, we approach our stop, and I look at Georgia.
“Please.” I see her mouth form the words. We pass our stop. She is radiant, and we end up all the way over in Bushwick.
