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I drain my glass of wine, and Henley pushes her full glass to me, as though she understands how badly I need it this time. Only for a completely different reason.
They all stare like they’re waiting for an explanation, and for some reason, I actually answer. Mostly because there’s no food in my mouth to stop the stupid from coming out.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I do everything right, and I always have an orgasm. But they never do.”
Emitt chokes suddenly, pounding his chest, and fortunately drawing all the attention away from me. Just as he starts turning a scary shade of red, Bobby Jo grabs his face, shoves her lips against his, and sucks.
Hard.
Her cheeks hollow, and his eyes widen. Suddenly, her head pops back, and she spits out the grape that was apparently choking Emitt.
“See why they call me BJ?” she asks him.
That’s both fascinating and…disgusting.
“The Heimlich would have worked just fine,” Emitt says on a rasp, as Bobby Jo bats her lashes at him.
“Proceed,” Kasha says, waving her hand at me and acting as though it’s perfectly normal for a woman to suck a grape from a man’s throat. “Why are you bad at sex? Or was the guy just a prick?”
“Women can’t be bad at sex,” Emitt says quickly.
“I can,” I grumble, swirling Henley’s glass of wine before taking another hefty sip. “They all say that. And it’s not like they break out the specifics for me.”
Everyone continues waiting for me to elaborate, but they can kiss my ass. I’m not telling them the mechanics for them to break them apart.
“She’s just not with the right guys,” Bobby Jo says, patting my hand. “You need a special kind of guy to take the smacking around and the crazy, dirty talk.”
All eyes remain glued to me, though they mostly look like they’re about to dislodge from their heads.
“What?” I snap at them.
“Explain,” Kasha says, her gaze on Bobby Jo now.
“I hear all that slapping going on, and then I hear her saying things like, ‘Oh, you dirty little boy. You’ve been so naughty. Take that. And that. And that.’ Then slap, slap, slap. The girl is too freaky for the average guy.”
“That’s normal!” I defend, the wine helping keep the embarrassment down.
Lydia and the others just blink at me. Emitt drops his fork.
“Totally not normal,” Lydia and Henley state in unison.
“It is. I remember it from that school teacher show. That’s always how they did it,” I go on.
Now they’re just fucking with me.
“What school teacher show?” Lydia asks slowly.
“Certainly not Saved by the Bell,” Henley says, amused. “Not even the college years were dirty.”
“I don’t know the name of it. We weren’t allowed to watch TV other than one hour a day, and then we could only watch educational things.”
“True,” Kasha says like she’s backing me up. “Roman said they had to learn other languages, an instrument, and be involved in one physical activity—sports activity, that is. Freaking overachievers.”
“Is that why you don’t care to watch TV now?” Lydia asks.
“Why are we talking about this when there’s clearly something else we need to know a lot more?” Henley asks, eagerly peering at me. “What school show? Describe it to us. And where did you watch it?”
I drink more wine. Liquid courage and all that.
“My dad never let us into his den, and he watched TV in there every night after we went to sleep. Maybe I was a little attention starved, but I used to lie down behind the couch and watch from around the corner. It was the closest to watching TV with my father that I got. Hell, the closest to quality time that I got. Sadly, it’s my fondest memory.”
“That is really sad,” Bobby Jo says sympathetically. Then with a straight face, she adds, “Especially since it sounds like you were watching porn with him.”
Horrified, I shoot her a glare. “I was not watching porn with my father!”
That was way too loud. Too many people gape at us now.
Kasha coughs on a laugh, smothering it with her hand, as Henley fights to keep a straight face. Lydia looks…like she’s about to burst out laughing. Emitt is looking anywhere but at us, his eyes taking a peculiar interest in the ceiling.
“Were these school people doing it with students?” Bobby Jo asks flatly.
“Well, yeah. Usually it was the female school teacher with the guys,” I say with a careless shrug.
“And she spanked them and called them naughty or dirty?” Kasha asks on a laugh.
“Yes,” I growl. “Of course.”
“Was there actual penetration—visually confirmed—in this show?” Henley asks.
“Of course,” I grumble.
“It was porn,” they all say at once.
“No, it wasn’t,” I hiss.
“Was one teacher named Ms. Cherry Nice?” Emitt asks seriously.
I think about that for a second. “Yes, actually. She was the main one.”
“Naughty Teachers Union,” Emitt goes on. “It was an ongoing porn show for a while,” he adds. “And now I look like a pervert who spends too much time with my hand. Sounds like I need to find someone—”
