"What have I gotten myself into?"
My palms were moist and my heart beat quickly. I knew what I was about to do was a mistake, but I sure didn't have the brains to stop. Or rather, I had too much testosterone to make myself use my brains.
"I actually told her my nickname, Fingers," I thought with embarrassment. "What a fucking ass I am."
My college teammates had given me that nickname because of my really big hands and freakishly long fingers, which helped me snag passes that were behind me or too deep or too wide. But did I have to tell the kid my nickname? I needed to impress a nineteen year old kid? What a fucking ass I am.
"Ooh, that sounds exciting," she said when I told her. "I'd really like to see them," she wrote during our chat, with one of those stupid fucking emoticons winking.
God, what a buffoon I am. The kid's nineteen, and me thirty five. I'm sure this is going to be a real meaningful relationship. Very special. And I'm sure that if it doesn't work out, she'll be real fucking mature about it, too.
I'm sitting in a parking lot at the mall at eight o'clock on a Tuesday, waiting for a nineteen year old kid to meet me. She knows I'm in a silver Chevy Tahoe, and that I'm parked at the back of the mall on the Macy's side, off by myself.
And what are we going to do when she gets here? Shit! What else are we going to do? Her nineteen, me thirty five. Discuss politics? Religion? How much we have in common, and how I knew we were destined for each other from the first time I saw her profile and chatted with her? Right.
The first time we chatted, I knew this was going to happen. Why else would I have bothered? Since my first long term relationship, back when I was in college, I haven't seen a girl younger than myself, so why didn't I just ignore her request to chat?
I thought about Becky, the girl I had been seeing for eight months until recently; the longest I've seen anyone since my college girl. She loved to analyze me. She'd have a field day with this meeting, if she were here now. A Peter Pan complex was what she called it. I never wanted to grow up. As long as I saw girls older than me, or about the same age, I could be sure they'd dump me soon after they got to really know me, and I wouldn't have to worry about being the dumper. Young kids, on the other hand, couldn't be counted on to be smart enough to bail when they found out what I was about.
I didn't have the balls to be the one doing the dumping, Becky had told me. Maybe she was right. Lord knows, she was really smart, so she probably was right. Good looking too, and God, did she have a nice body. But she was such a pain in the ass, always wanting to talk about "us" and "our future", and all that shit. She couldn't ever just shut up. She was the one chick I could have dumped, if she hadn't dumped me first. Except she was the only chick that ever called me on my bullshit, and she was spot on every time.
I've always preferred being the dumpee. I don't like confrontations, with tears and all that shit. I much prefer being yelled at and told what an asshole I am, then seeing the back side of my lover as she slams the door on the way out.
I still felt bad whenever I thought about my girl in college. We'd seen each other all through college, though I treated her badly. After graduation, I moved back to my home town, and we never got together again. She'd seen it coming and didn't make too big a scene, but I still felt bad. We both knew I had just been using her for an easy piece of ass all that time.
I never gained weight after my playing days, and I think I'm pretty good looking, tall and athletic, so I've never had trouble getting girls. I don't like doing without, even for a few days, and that's what's gotten me into situations like this one over the years. Waiting in a parking lot for a girl I know I'm gonna want to screw, but knowing that I'm going to regret it later, when it's time to ditch her.
8:08. Shit, why did I get here early? Why couldn't I be the one making her wait? I feel like a buffoon, waiting for a kid in a parking lot, the cold rain drizzling on my windshield. I can see my breath now, and start the engine to get the heater going.
A few minutes later a Honda pulls up and two people get out. They quickly open my doors. She gets in front, her friend gets in back. I wasn't expecting this.
"Hello," I say.
"Hi, Fingers," she says, and her girlfriend in the back giggles.
I turn on the dome light and turn around to see her friend. She's fucking gorgeous; long blond hair, pretty face, nice tight body.
"This is Christy," she says, and we say hello to each other.
"I wasn't expecting two," I say.
"A girl can't be too careful," she says. "For all I know you could be an escaped con or something."
Great, now there's two of them. That could be good, or that could be an impediment. Have to see. I check out Megan. I've seen pictures of her lots of times, both posted on her profile, and sent to me through private messages. None nude, but damned close to it, close enough to know that I'd love to split her in half with my dick, and her little friend too. She's beautiful.
I haven't been with a girl so young since I was that young, but there is definitely something to be said for youth. Tight little petite bodies with perfect skin. Damn, these girls are fine. Too bad youth is wasted on the young. The sweet smell of young girl's perfume fills the car.
"What do you want to do?" Megan says. "You want to go out to a club?"
"Nah, you're underage."
"We have IDs."
"Forget it, I can't get in that kind of trouble."
"Then what?"
"We can go back to my place and talk," I say.
"Okay," they said in unison.
"Follow me."
Last thing I want is to have to get back out later and drive them back to the mall. They get out and follow me in Megan's car.
They take off their coats and throw them over a dining room chair. They're both wearing tight jeans and tight tees with low scoop necklines that barely cover their bras. They're gorgeous.
"Nice place," Christy says.
Truth is, it's a sty, but I did pick up the dishes and stuffed them into the dishwasher before they came, and I did throw all the clothes laying around into my hamper. As long as they don't look too close, it's not too bad.
"Is this you," Megan said, looking at some of my football clippings under the glass on my desktop.
"Yeah."
"You were a stud, huh?"
"Were?" I say, smiling.
I sit on the couch with them on either side, Megan leaning against me and holding me around the neck. Her face is inches from me, her perfume engulfing me. God, I'm looking forward to fucking her. Will I have to wait until another night, when her friend isn't here? I hadn't planned on this being a multiple date relationship.
We make small talk. Her friend is real quiet. I try to draw her out, but she's not as giggly and bubbly as Megan.
