Prissy Rissy

I rolled up right as the Blockbuster was set to open. I wanted to run in, run out, and rush back to my oddly indifferent, curiously horny, new girlfriend as soon as possible.

Wait.

Was Krissy my

girlfriend

?! What we had didn't feel like dating, exactly. More like fooling around. Like a song that was all chorus but no verses. It was broken and strange, but also kind of awesome.

Did I even want a relationship with Krissy? That was a whole other question. I lusted after her; had since the moment I started liking girls. But I didn't truly

like

her. She was rude to everyone, even me when we weren't fooling around. She wasn't just mean, either. She acted almost analytical about it -- like the idea of someone else's misery intrigued her to no end.

But Krissy was blonde, and hot, and willing to put out with me. Even in a somewhat limited way. And again: crush. I felt like I'd found some secret, hidden treasure and that's a hard thing to let go of. Even if it turns out the riches are cursed.

Truthfully, I wasn't examining my feelings much at all at that point. My penis had taken the wheel. For the record, dicks are terrible drivers -- they only have that one eye, after all. It messes with their depth perception.

As soon as I stepped into the Blockbuster, I knew that Steve was working because Moonraker was playing on the TV screens. This was before the days of the special store feed and so we were allowed to put whatever movies we wanted on the screens, so long as they weren't rated R.

Steve was a Bond buff, so Connery, Lazenby, Moore, et al would all be featured in that day's entertainment. I just had to hope my bottom-heavy co-worker wasn't working the register. I knew he'd give me misery if he saw what I was renting.

I ran into the back and raced through the options. For a moment, I thought about grabbing The Red Shoe Diaries, but I decided that was a step beyond where Krissy would be comfortable. Instead, I picked a couple more erotic thriller type movies that I'd seen on HBO and knew would be good enough.

When I got back up front, I saw, to my dismay, that Steve was at the register. He raised his eyebrow at me as I handed him the movies.

"You're out of freebies for this week," he told me. Employees got five movies each week, which seems like a massive motherlode until you start working at a movie place.

"I'll pay," I said, reaching for my wallet.

Steve scanned the videos. He looked at me. Then he looked back at the boxes.

"Oh shit," he said, "Really?!"

"What?"

"Come on, man," Steve said, "Don't play dumb with me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"It's her, isn't it?"

"Just give me my movies," I said. I felt the heat start to swell up the collar of my t-shirt.

"It's her. The one from the other day," Steve said, "The Girl with the Golden Pussy. You snuck into her secret lair, didn't you?"

"Seriously, I have no idea what you mean," I said.

"Bullshit, you do! Fuckin'-A, man. Good for you!"

"Whatever," I said, "Can I go now?"

I pushed my money at him, but he waved it off. "Movies are on me," Steve said, "Anyone who can accomplish that deserves some kind of reward."

I wanted to be pissed, but all I could do was grin as I stuffed the bills back in my pocket.

"You're gonna need an ice pick to get at that pussy, though," Steve said, like he was thinking it through. "Still dude, I'm proud of you. Go get her!"

He slapped me on the back, hard, as he handed me my movies. Like a football coach sending me out onto the field.

I ran back to my car, feeling embarrassed and honored all at once.

*

As it turned out, I could have rented Elmo Learns His ABCs and it wouldn't have mattered. Krissy and I ignored the television completely. We didn't even bother to drop in the tape. Instead, I spent the morning engaged in a tactical tete-a-tete trying to figure out how far Krissy was willing to go and how I might manage to take her there.

Everything started out so well. Krissy stripped off her sweater on her own accord in the first ten minutes of our make out session. I took my own t-shirt off, as well, and lay back on the couch.

Krissy dragged her lips over my neck and chest. Her breasts looked oh so suckable under her basic, white-and-blue-striped bra. That little cross around her neck tickled, cold, against my pecs. For a moment, I imagined it leaving little scorch marks on my skin and I almost laughed out loud.

The seemingly eager blonde was doing that weird back-arching thing again every time I kissed her. Trying to encourage me to go for more. So, I reached back for her bra strap. But she stopped me.

"No," Krissy said, "Not here."

That was a confusing response. What exactly did geography have to do with any of this? I understood 'not now' and I was familiar with 'not with you' but 'not here' was a new one.

Plus, it was so open ended. Not on the couch? Not in the basement? What about Timbuktu -- would that be an appropriate locale for Krissy to take her titties out?

I got that her mom was right upstairs, aggressively vacuuming the living room. The basement door was open. The chances of getting caught were actually pretty good.

The line between no shirt and no bra seemed awfully thin, though. Like, if Mrs. Thompson did come downstairs, was that little bit of lace and latex truly going to be the difference between a forgiven dalliance and a total disaster?

Krissy had the same response, a little while later, when I tried to slide off my shorts. I wasn't even 'making a move' at that point. I mean, that was part of it, sure. But in truth, the way the blonde girl was humping against my leg was starting to chafe. It got to be uncomfortable after a while, you know?

But again, as I reached for my belt, Krissy said, "Not here."

Again, I wondered how to respond. Was she legitimately drawing a line, or was I supposed to be solving this problem? Accepting her boundaries or providing an alternate way over the wall?

Not knowing what to do, I stayed with what I knew. I kissed Krissy's ears and neck. Licked up her stomach and between her breasts. The blonde girl did the same; mimicking my movements. Tentatively exploring at what she could do and feel. All the while, grinding her so-called 'hoo-hoo' into my thigh-thigh.

Finally, though, I gave up on being nice. I don't know what pushed me over the edge. I'm not sure what suddenly gave me the guts (my people would call it

chutzpah

, a word that Krissy certainly wouldn't know) to even try what I did. Instincts or, I don't know, some heretofore unknown insight. Maybe Jesus, crucified on the wood paneling of the far wall, whispered it in my ear.

I put my hands on Krissy's skinny, pink shoulder and pushed her back. She eyed me nervous and confused. Those blue-sky eyes searching me.

"Take off your bra," I said.

Krissy's eyes flashed, narrowed. For a moment, I thought I'd finally pushed too far. Then she let out a little sigh and reached behind her back. The striped undergarment eagerly popped open. Krissy shrugged the straps off her shoulders. Her breasts, finally bare, came free.

Like the rest of her body, Krissy's boobs were amazing. A revelation. I'd been with other girls (three others, but who's counting?). None of them could match up. Krissy's tits were on the small side, but her taut globes looked full to bursting like ripe peaches. She had light nipples, with tight areolae that came to cute, coral points.

As you might imagine, my body reacted immediately to that incredible sight. My cock, already stiff, tried to rip right through my shorts. My hands, of their own accord, reached forward to grab hold. I started to salivate.

My stomach grumbled, loudly.

OK, so maybe arousal wasn't the only thing I was feeling in the moment. I looked over at the clock and saw, somehow, it was 1pm. We'd made out right through lunch and my body had picked the absolute worst time to warn me.

Krissy gave me a disdainful glare when my tummy rumbled. Like, if I was a better person, I'd be able to control such biological reactions. For a second, again, I braced for her complaint.

Instead, though, she reached for her bra and sweater and pulled them on. I followed her lead, then followed her upstairs to the kitchen.

The room was exactly as I remembered: a small space with tiny windows and brown tile floors. The houses in our neighborhood had been built around the same time, in the early 1950s, so they all had the same basic layout.

Over time, naturally, people had upgraded their homes. The Thompsons had the finished basement, which we did not. But we'd redone the kitchen with large windows and modern appliances, while they'd kept the older space with the Formica counter tops and a small, double oven built into the wall.

Mrs. Thompson was standing behind the counter, expectantly. I noticed she had the same pointy chin and nose as her daughter, but she was shorter than Krissy and didn't have any of the curves. The look on her face made me wonder if maybe she knew exactly what was going on down there. Mrs. Thompson didn't seem the type to let her daughter fool around with the neighborhood Heeb while she just listened in. But she also didn't say a word about it to us.

The redheaded woman made us ham sandwiches on wonder bread with yellow mustard and plastic American cheese, like we were back in the fourth grade. She kept her already thin lips tightly pursed as she put down the plates.

I didn't keep kosher, but I didn't like ham; it wasn't the sort of thing my mom would put on the table. I consumed it anyway. We didn't say a word the whole time. Krissy didn't even look my way. I didn't feel like an invited guest.

And yet, despite feeling terribly unwelcome and horribly ignored, at no point did I consider calling it a day and heading home. Like a cliffhanger ending to a hit show before summer break, Krissy's boob-reveal had me hanging on the edge of my seat. I'd have eaten a sandwich of broken glass if I thought it would get me back to that spot in the basement.

When we were finished eating, Krissy took my plate and put it in the sink.

"We're going up to my bedroom," she announced to her mother, hands on her hips.

Mrs. Thompson stared back at her daughter. For a moment, they both shared the same scornful glare.

"Keep the door open," the redheaded woman said, finally. She didn't even move her mouth.

"Yup!" Krissy said. She grabbed my hand and pulled me, like I was an obstinate dog on a leash.

*

Up the white, carpeted staircase. Past the rows of wholesome family pictures. The third-grade portrait. The road trip to the Grand Canyon. Down the hallway we went, the house smelling ever stronger of dried lavender and cloves, so heady it left me feeling slightly sick. A bathroom to the right. A closed bedroom door to the left.

Deeper into the inner sanctum. Further than I'd ever been taken. Krissy's door. A floral, gilded "K" hanging in the middle of the white-painted wood. The blonde girl cracked it open with a creak.

Krissy's bedroom was what I'd expected. It still managed to overwhelm me. A bright pink carpet with white, wood furniture. Her twin bed, the headboard in the shape of a heart -- layered with so many pillows and stuffies I couldn't find the actual mattress.

Krissy shoved the crowd of bears, ponies, and puppies onto the floor, then hopped on. She pulled me in, kissing me. My t-shirt joined her discarded friends on the ground soon after.

I'd wondered what it would take to get Krissy to remove her bra again. It wasn't a worry. We'd only barely started kissing before Krissy was back to bare chested. Like we'd only left things on pause. Her sweet, succulent breasts returned like they'd never left.

I reached for them immediately, impulse control blown to hell. Krissy let out a little squeak as I closed my fingers around her tits. Fuck, they felt even better than they looked.

Krissy laid back on her little pink and white bed. My lips on her sweet, strawberry nipples. Her groin ground up against my thigh. Her thin fingers running through my brown, curly hair. Both of us too lost in our urges to worry about ever being found.

The door was open, sure, but this was different. We might as well have been in a separate wing of the princess' castle. All the way upstairs, down the dark hallway, we would have time if Krissy's mom decided to interrupt. We'd hear her footsteps on the stairs and be able to quickly compose ourselves. Or, at least, that was what I told myself.

Krissy was arching her back again. I knew that meant I was supposed to kiss lower. I planted my lips on her cute, pale tummy. Ran my tongue under the waistband of her panties. Krissy groaned and arched her back again.

Lower?

Even I wasn't sure that was a smart idea. Not that I was going to argue. I felt like I'd already been waiting for eons to slide those skin-tight jeans off of her.

I unsnapped the metal button and started to slip the denim down Krissy's skinny thighs. She squeezed her hand on mine as the fabric got halfway down her hips. That was far enough.

I could see Krissy's yellow, bikini-cut panties from top to bottom. White lace around the edges. A little bow at the center of the waistband. A bit of a dark spot at the gusset, promising something spectacular underneath.

Krissy looked at me expectantly, though I didn't know what I was supposed to do. What I wanted, and what she was willing for -- I knew those were two different things. Again, I kissed along her waist. Slipped my tongue under the band. Krissy gasped. I felt the tickle of her pubic hair at my tongue. There was something tantalizing about that, in and of itself.

Krissy pulled me up for a kiss. I lay on top of her. Her bare breasts pressed into my skin, hot. My achingly hard dick landed in the exact right spot. Both of us pressed into the other and we let out a shared, needy groan.

I reached down for my belt and this time Krissy let me undo it. I unsnapped my shorts and started to slowly lower them down. But when my pants reached the bottom of my boxers, Krissy stopped me again. Like for like. We could pull our bottoms back up, if needed.

I lay down again. My dick ground into Krissy's furrow. Through our underwear was so much

more

. I swore I could feel the heat of the blonde girl's pussy through the thin cloth.

We rubbed against each other, staring beyond ourselves. Like pretending the other person wasn't there, while very much taking advantage of the fact that they were.

We built towards something, but not at any great pace. Whenever things seemed to push forward, Krissy held them back. I could almost see the argument going on behind her eyes. Wanting this and very much not wanting it at the same time. Searching desperately for satiation, yet also very much afraid of it. Of abandoning herself to something so desperately desired.

But Krissy couldn't hold back my body. I felt my peak racing forward and couldn't bear to stop. I pressed down hard, one last time and let out a groan. I squeezed Krissy tight as my orgasm overcame me. Warm liquid shot into my boxers.

Krissy held me as I shuddered. Her breath hot in my ear. My orgasm felt tight. Compressed. But it was no less wonderful to finally reach my release after all that anticipation.

When I was done, I expected Krissy to be angry. But, instead, she gave me a little smile and a pat on the cheek. Like I was a well-behaved puppy.

I rolled off her, my boxers sticky and dark with my spend. Krissy looked down at her crotch, searching for spillage. Whatever liquid was on her yellow panties seemed to only have come from herself. We lay back in her bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. A weird combination of both warmly comfortable and increasingly awkward.

"I should probably go," I said, rolling off the bed.

"OK," Krissy said. I pulled up my shorts and buckled them. I found my t-shirt under a Care Bear and put it on. When I turned back, Krissy was fully dressed. The only sign that she'd been disheveled was her hair, a few golden strands sticking out to the side.

Krissy looked past me, without a hint of emotion, and for a moment I wondered if that was it. I'd finally pushed too far and now it would be over. The relief that flooded me when Krissy suggested we meet up the next day, it was overwhelming. Almost embarrassing, if I'm being honest.

"I'll come by after work," I said.

"Yes, please," Krissy said. Her eagerness was so adorable.

That settled, I turned to leave the bedroom. But Krissy grabbed my hand and pulled me back. I thought maybe she wanted one last kiss, but instead she eyed me.

"I don't do this stuff," Krissy said, "Usually. I never do this stuff."

I didn't know what I was supposed to say so I nodded.

"I want you to know," Krissy said, "I'm not, you know, like this. Normally."

"You said you had a boyfriend," I said, "Before."

Krissy nodded. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Brad," she said, "We dated for a few months. He was tall and handsome. Always well dressed. We'd hold hands in the park. Go to church together. Proper. Nothing like this."

"Understood," I said.

Krissy must have noticed my tone because she squeezed my hand tighter for a moment.

Then she let it go.