I know what she thinks aboutDraculaandFrankensteinand also Jonathan Franzen. I know that she can change the oil in her car herself. I know she had a cat named Waffle when she was growing up, and she’s got a roommate now. I know she thinks that high heels are a tool of the patriarchy specifically designed to keep women in their place, and I also know that wears them, sometimes, along with stockings and garters that cut into her thighs and make me feel dizzy.
I know she’s funny and smart and gets annoyed when anyone uses a percentage larger than one hundred; I know she’s got a mind for planning and strategy and I know she’s kicked my ass at internet chess a hundred times; I know sometimes she takes two days to take her turn in our Words With Friends game because she’s going through every iteration of her letters until she finds the best one.
And I know the hardest I’ve come in my entire life was the first time I ever watched her fuck herself.
* * *
I’m pacingback and forth in my kitchen after dinner, trying to think of something clever and also sexy to say aboutDraculawhen she texts me first.
Doing anything tonight?
Trying to come up with a good line about nightgowns, actually
How’s that going?
Pretty bad!
Do you want me to make this easier for you, or
Let me see that ankle, girl. Bet it’s well-turned
A moment later, I get a picture: Lola barefoot on a hardwood floor, squatting, her body folded in on itself. It’s a side view, but I can still see the way her cutoff denim shorts are cutting into the tops of her thighs. Fuck. I practically run to my bedroom, because I don’t need my roommate Steven walking into the kitchen and finding me standing in front of the clean dishes, dick at full mast in the gym shorts I’m wearing because it’s still hot in mid-September.
Her ankle is also in the picture. It’s a hot ankle. I’d lick it if she asked.
Your calves are also pretty fucking hot
So scandalous
I would ruin the fuck out of your reputation
Not my reputation!
Couldn’t you ruin something else?
I grab my iPad and folding stand and get myself settled on the bed, pillow behind my back.
Maybe. What are my options?
Take your pick
She sends another photo through, a body shot in a full-length mirror, her head just out of frame but her dark, shiny hair curling against her collarbones. Besides the cutoffs, all she's wearing is a skin-tight light blue tank top, cropped just above her belly button, and some sort of blue medallion necklace. She's not wearing a bra and her nipples are hard, the fabric clinging to every swell and curve, one arm propped against the wall as she leans, hips cocked, ankles crossed.
It’s. I, just. God. Fuckyes.It takes a minute for my brain to be anything but white noise.
Gonna need a few more angles, can’t make an uninformed decision
Maybe if you ask nicely
I swallow hard, my heart suddenly speeding up.
Fuck. It’sthatkind of night.
No. Get up against the wall and show me how you’d take it.
Another picture, seconds later: Lola braced against the wall, folded almost ninety degrees, back arched, ass high. With one hand she’s reaching back and tugging the hem of her shorts up the back of her thigh, and my brain sort of short-circuits for a few seconds.
Fuck. Look at you. Begging for it
