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Oh, my God. I could be prom queen!
Or maybe none of that will happen, but it could! It totally could as long as Ryker North isn’t hanging around.
My phone dings a text in my hand so I look down at the screen.
Ryker: Don’t wear underwear today. I want to play with your pussy in the car.
What?
My fingers start flying in reply. Sicko. I’m not getting in your car.
My phone rings again. Guess who?
“What?” I say.
“You really don’t want to see me again?”
“You said one night! I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, but… you’re like eighteen years old.”
“So?”
“You’re young and you have romantic delusions and think I’m your boyfriend now, right?”
I laugh. “What?”
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Just fucking with you. Sort of. I want to see you again.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.”
“That’s why.”
“I’m a pretty hot thirty-five.”
“You really are.” I giggle. “But no. I can’t. I’m sorry. My dad would hate it. And I’m into guys my own age.”
“What guys?”
“No one in particular, dummy. Just… guys.”
“So be into me until you find one.”
I pause, thinking about this.
“OK? We good?”
“Ryker—“
“I really am going to get you off in the car, so that text was not a request.”
“You can’t tell me not to wear underwear. Besides, you said the underwear sex was hot.”
“It is. But knowing you’re sitting next to me in a dress without panties because you want my fingers inside you as we drive is hot too.”
Holy shit. This guy does not fuck around.
“I’ll tell you what. You can wear them to school but take them off before you get in the car.”
“I’m not getting in your car!”
“You are, Aria. So just do what I say. You’ll like it, I promise.”
Then he drops me! Fucker hangs up on me!
So I call him back but he sends me straight to voicemail!
And oh, boy, do I leave a voicemail. “You know what?” I tell the phone. “You’re kind of a pervert. Taking advantage of me and my flower. Being all patient and hot and telling me to fuck you as slow as I want.” I pause. “Jesus. When I say it like that—never mind. I’m not getting in your car. I’m not even wearing a dress today! So ha!”
Then I drop him.
And get up. Unable to stop thinking about him because his ghost cock is still up inside me.
God, why does it feel like this? Am I damaged?
I wish I had a friend from school who knows what it’s like to have hot monster-cock sex. If April were here I could ask her. But she’s so busy and there’s like twenty hours of time difference between us, so I can’t. Besides, she’d probably tell my mom and then I’d get a safe sex lecture because—well, I totally need that lecture.
I pick up my phone and call him again. Once more getting voicemail. “And,” I say, picking up where I left off. “And you didn’t even use a condom! Not your first rodeo, huh? Asshole!”
I drop him and go back to fuming confusion.
A few minutes later my phone rings again, and yup. It’s Ryker. “What?”
“I apologize,” he says.
“For which part?”
“The condom,” he says. “That’s the only mistake I made.”
“Hmmm,” I say, trying to think up another mistake. “You did kiss me when I was still seventeen.”
“You did lie to me.”
“Yeah, but you already knew.”
“Touché. I’m sorry.”
Hmmm. Told him.
“So…” he says.
“So…” I say.
“Wear a dress and take off your panties before you get in my car.”
“What kind of car do you have?”
I swear to God, I can hear him smile on the other end of the phone. “Dodge Challenger.”
“Hmm,” I say. “That kinda says sexy drummer.”
“Yeah, it kinda does.”
“Old or new?”
“New. I’m trying to be eco-friendly.” Which just makes me snort. “Hey, it’s a helluva lot better than the old ones.”
“Still a gas guzzler.”
“Sorry, I’m never getting a Prius.”
“You could get a Tesla.”
He laughs. “I guess I could.”
“So… if you show up in a Tesla, I’ll wear a dress, take off my panties, and get in your car.”
I drop him. And smile.
Take that, you sexy, hot, tattooed drummer with amazing deflowering skills.
My phone dings a text. It says one word.
Done.
So… it turns out that guys who take Photoshop certification classes during spring break are all old geeks. I’m the only girl in the whole class, which is so disappointing, but also makes me the center of attention. Especially since I’m wearing one of April’s dresses. It’s tame, for her. But for me it’s kinda flashy.
She wore it to church last Easter and never put it on again. But her idea of a church dress is unique. So it’s a short peach dress with a flirty chiffon skirt, with a bazillion pearls on the sewn-on belt. The front has a scoop neck and there’s pretty cap sleeves, but the back is too low to wear a bra, so…
