Forget all the men turning towards her. Forget how her breasts rocked under the distressed fabric of her top, how her little skirt flipped up, how it hardly covered the twin curves of her ass. Forget how she was moving down the New York streets and avenues wearing next to nothing. She probably didn't hear the words the men said to her, the whistles. She was still thinking about blowing the newspaper guy.
* * * * *
The next Monday, I didn't meet Carol at her class. She was finally having her -- meetings -- with her guys, and I gave her all the time she needed. I waited in the library, glancing up as she flounced in. She wore a muscle shirt, green, with wide arm-holes, and a wrap-around tartan skirt. The skirt was fixed with a big safety needle. In addition to that, she had big shit-kicking boots on. She looked captivating.
She had a smile for me. I noticed her lipstick was all messed up. She kissed my cheek, then sat down beside me. I waited as she pulled out her lipstick tube and a little mirror, and applied a new layer.
I was patient. This was the first time I'd seen her since Friday, and I wanted her to be in a good mood. I didn't want to break the suddenly delicate mood while she was preparing to tell me.
"The last three days," I said finally, unable to handle the silence any longer, "did you have fun?"
She nodded quietly, suddenly shy again, then impulsively pulled me to her and kissed me. She buried her head in my shoulder, and her voice was muffled. "You want my report?"
"Hell, yeah," I said.
Still muffled, she said, "I fucked Andrew. Lots of times. And then today, I made friends with the guy at the newspaper stand in Queens. It was easy, like you said it would be. And then, with the Cap guy -- the frat boy guy I don't like -- I got him before the class. I just pulled him out, around the corner, and put him up against the wall. Then after the same class, with the other guy -- the Guido? I took him to the student lounge, and frenched him by the coke machines. He was all under my shirt."
I nodded stiffly. I still didn't know what I was feeling... only that I wanted to know more. "What was it like?"
She knew what I was asking. "Oh, Tyler. It was
fun
! I don't know if it should be so fun, like that."
"Of course it should be fun, Carol," I said. "Otherwise there's no point."
"Really?" she seemed relieved.
"Of course," I said. "Are you still mine?"
"Tyler, I'm yours forever!" she clasped me closer, her fingers bunching on my shirt. "You don't have anything to worry about. It was just fun, and I still want you all to myself. I was worried that my feelings might change, with all the boys working me (four men in three days!), but my feelings are the same. I feel more for you now than ever."
She gave a wet, crowded little sniff, and I realized she was crying a little.
"Good," I said, stroking her hair. "Then everything is like we hoped, right?"
"Yeah," she said.
I said, "Now, tell me
everything
, all the details."
"You want to know a secret?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"This part is the most fun for me. Telling you. I'm so happy and relieved."
"I have a secret of my own," I said. "I want my cock in your mouth." And, boy, did I. My cock was so hard, it was pushing out the fold of my jeans.
"Me too," she said, not making a move towards me. We both knew, by now, that it was much more fun to let the tension build. We would be going back to my apartment after this, anyway. We sat together quietly for a moment.
"Tell me everything," I said. "All the nasty details." It was wonderfully intimate, listening to her wet, muffled whisper about sex and sluttiness, there in the middle of the library.
* * * * *
Weekend With Andrew
On the subway, I bounced against Andrew all the way back to Queens. I was in front of him, staring at the crowd in the car, and he was behind me, leaning over me and whispering in my ear. For most of the ride, he was a voice in my head, hot breath in my ear, and a disembodied cock rubbing my ass.
He was full of questions about you and me, Tyler. I think he idolizes you. His main fear about transferring here was not the classes, the cost, whatever. It was 'the level of cool,' as he put it, of the guys there. I mean, all he saw were my guy-friends confidently jumping all over me, passing me around. And then there was you, cool, sophisticated, world-wise, teaching him secrets about how to please women (me).
He played it cool, and he has always been very judgmental, but he was wondering how he would fit in.
First off, I told him that not everybody was like me and my friends. I had to
work
for it. Up till the start of my second semester, I was just as lame as everybody else. I encouraged him, saying, you just go to the city,
become
something, and everybody treats you like you
are
that something. I told him it was easy, once you started.
He wasn't convinced. Then I got this flash of insight. He had wrapped his arm around me, with his hand gripping my shoulder and his forearm over my chest. It felt so warm and comfortable -- and fewer people were looking at me. I don't notice people staring very often -- not any more -- but sometimes I do. And it all goes away when you're holding my hand.
I'm sure some people still stare, but they don't outright ogle me. They don't come up and start talking. It's like you, being my boyfriend, make a man-barrier between me and the world. It's nice to hide behind, sometimes. I can't be me
all
the time.
I think about the man-barrier every now and then. Like when I leave my house in just a little silk dress and nothing else. Like when I'm on the subway platform, and the train pulls in, and my dress flies up. Suddenly I think,
I'm going into the city and I'm mostly naked.
I think,
I'm gonna be walking around with a millimeter of fabric between my cunt and every guy on the street.
It all slams down like a ton of bricks. But then I think about meeting you, and how you basically
eat me
with your eyes. Everybody can stare, they can talk to me, and get me to kiss them, and run their hands under my skirt -- but eventually I'll be there with you. (And then there are the other times, when I just get totally horny with all these strangers.)
Well, I got that same protection-feeling from Andrew when he wrapped his arm around me. So before I could think it out, I said, "Well, why don't we pretend I'm your girlfriend this weekend?"
"What?"
"No, really. I'll be your girlfriend, like we've been going together for a few months. You can practice on me, and I'll give you instructions."
"Really? You really think I can learn to be a Tyler?"
You're smiling, Tyler. Yeah. That was great for me too. Like, here's a guy, and he thinks you're a totally cool hunk. I don't have many girl friends, and certainly none in college, since this semester. Usually girlfriends give feedback about boyfriends. So this was the first time I'd actually heard, from someone beside myself, that you're a great guy.
"What about... you know. The sex part?" Andrew asked me.
"The sex ties everything together," I said simply. I didn't want to get into it: this position was allowed, this position was not. I decided I would just drop everything in his lap, and let him sort it out. "I'd certainly be insulted if, like, you jacked off instead. I mean, I thought I felt something between us."
"We have pictures, even," he laughed. "Okay,
girlfriend
, let me take you out to dinner tonight. You can tell me about life at the Big U."
"Sounds great!"
"What about Tyler?" he asked. "Is he going to mind?"
"About the dinner? Or all the sex?" I giggled at his discomfort. "Tyler has no say in what I do with my body," I lied. "He says it's all my own business, just that I should be safe and respect him."
"Hmm!" said Andrew.
After we got off the train, we walked the four blocks back to my house. He held my hand, he teased me, he squeezed me when I made jokes -- he was very good at pretending to be my boyfriend. Almost as if he'd been imagining himself in that role since the morning.
Andrew's first test came early, when we passed by the newspaper guy. He stays in his stand to sell stuff to returning commuters, and as we were passing by he was closing up for the night.
The newspaper guy saw me coming, and started his yelling. He said something about how I was bringing my men home with me now. Of
course
this caused other people on the street to look at us. I thought Andrew would lose it, or crumble.
But no -- he played it up. He had a big smile, and he walked me close by the stand, even slowing down. I followed meekly. As we passed, Andrew reached up and patted my head, grinning at the newspaper guy. The newspaper guy gave Andrew a big thumbs-up.
I was relieved, whispering, "Good job!"
Andrew looked a little surprised. "That was all acting. I patted your head, like you were a good little pet."
"Like Tyler said, that guy isn't yelling because he's mean. He's yelling because he's left out. You just included him in something. That was a 'New York Moment.'"
"I included him at the cost of humiliating you," Andrew said.
"Yeah!" I squeezed his hand. "Wasn't that easy?"
"What's easy is being your boyfriend," he observed.
I laughed. "Tell that to Tyler for me, the next time you see him."
I installed Andrew in our guest room in the house. Actually my step-brother's room, which is empty since he's in the army.
It was late, and we'd have to hurry to get to dinner. So while Andrew got ready, I went to my room to change.
Since he didn't know about my rules for clothes, I thought I would dress differently. I put on a bra and panties, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tasty, all strapped-in or fluffed up in the right places. But it also felt a little constricting, like a two-piece string bikini that had been tied too tightly.
I put on socks, and pulled on some jeans. Tight little hip-huggers, with the belt-loops cut off. They left my belly uncovered almost down to my puddy -- very low. I threw on a little sweater with long sleeves, four buttons in front.
As I moved around the room, throwing stuff in my purse, the clothes rubbed against me. I dug out some shoes, and as I bent over to put them on, the jeans cut into my stomach. I had to
