Page 19 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

violent and hot.

My hand comes over my face.

I’m crying and I’m fucking pissed, mad at my eyes for being so weak. Mad at my heart for letting him in.

I’m silently sobbing into my hand, hating how I let us get this far.

I slip out from under him as if I was never there, every inch between us measured in guilt, barefoot and gone before morning rises up.

Brandon rises up from between my thighs, sits beside me, pulling me into his lap. His kiss catches me, his lips still dripping with my pussy. “I’ll never get over it,” he mutters, dazed. “Don’t think I’ll be able to eat pussy again without comparin’ it to yours. That’s a fuckin’ tragedy.”

He tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth and slides on the rubber. “Sure you wanna⁠—”

I cut him off with a fist around his cock,

line him up, and slide down fast,

so there’s no time to back out.

My pussy stretches around him,

hardly wet enough to drown.

He groans, biting his lip ring,

neck snapping back,

tattoos writhing across his stomach.

There.

He’s inside me.

It’s done.

He grabs my ass with both hands, moaning while I fuck him hard, as if I’m trying to punch holes into these feelings.

I leave Brandon’s right after.

Night winds slip through the cracked window as Staten Island spits me into the steel mouth of the Verrazzano.

EZ-Pass lights glow blue and green above. The bridge is empty, only me and eighteen-wheelers. I’m halfway across before realizing tears are leaving my eyes.

Djarum smoke sits thick in my lungs, like a lullaby laced in arsenic, while the clove burns slow between my fingers. The heater vents are on full blast, but I’m still shaking.

I’m still tasting the bile

from when I puked in the grass.

I’m still feeling Brandon on my skin.

I’m still smelling the scent of sex.

Not the scent of sex with Andrew,

but the scent of sex with someone else.

I didn’t know that was possible, that Andrew and me could carry a different aroma, and a smell with someone else could make me sick.