Little Mermaid

They'd hugged each other on that rainy parking lot until a sliver of warmth crept through the icy wetness. With it, a long-forgotten feeling returned to Ariel, an easy closeness, a warm feeling of...was it consolation? Was it even love? Or just two pieces of lost flotsam drifted together?

There'd been no words all through the embrace, not even when they walked to Tim's entirely unsexy little car. To Ariel it felt as if she treaded on clouds of light. They were silent all the way to the blessedly warm coffeeshop he took her to. They peeled off their drenched jackets and sat in a corner, their backs against a glowing radiator. Hugging a hot cocoa, Ariel said: "I've been such a stupid ass; all this time wasted, all this agony for nothing."

"Yes," Tim agreed, "but you weren't the only one."

Everything at that utterly unremarkable place would be forever imprinted on Ariel's memory. The soothing warmth, the drinks they had, the words they said, even the torn and yellowed posters on the wall. Every detail of Tim's face, the eyes, the wet hair, the permanent grin, the scar. She had to touch it, touch him over and over again. It was suddenly all so easy. At once, they talked a lot, silly things of no importance, important things, important silly things. They laughed, they cried. Tim told her about the accident, caused by a malfunctioning of his little red sportscar. He'd been under way to find her a present for after the exams; that's why he took Allison with him, he said, for advice.

"Ugh," Ariel said at that, "asking her advice for something I might like?" He protested.

"She's different once you get to know her."

"But should I?" she answered. "Really?" She rolled her eyes, they laughed. She touched his face again, her head glowing. They talked some more. Ariel told him about Carl, but not the sex. She talked about the parties, but not the rape. She didn't say a word about the orgy.

"You must have had a great time," he said. "When will you go back?" That's when they fell silent. She leant back into the radiator, watching her hands cupping an empty mug.

"Not sure," she said. "Maybe I won't." Another silence crept in.

"Shall I get you home?" he asked.

"No! No, please, let's stay for a bit longer," she answered. "For a looooong bit." So, they ordered another drink, sipping it in silence, nibbling on a snack. Ariel's head felt light, almost empty; her body had lost all tension. Things were easy. Why was that? She laid a hand on one of his.

"Now that we're both ugly," she said, "I could love you, Tim." They chuckled. Tim put down his cup.

"I could love you," he said, "because one of us is silly." And they kissed across the table.

***

Much later, Tim took her home. Sitting in the car in front of her house they still didn't want it to end. They stared quietly through the windscreen into the empty, wet, shining street. Then they turned to each other as if prompted by a silent signal. His mouth came close and they awkwardly kissed, hemmed in by the car's lack of space.

"I'm afraid to leave you," Ariel said, panting from the intense kissing. "I'm afraid this will all end up being a dream once you're gone, and I'll hate you again." His face was almost invisible in the night's darkness, his warm hand cupped her face. She nudged her chin into it.

"Oh, but this is real," he said. "It's a dream too, though, don't you think?" She leant into his shoulder, feeling his other hand stroke her hair. Heat and humidity steamed up the windows. At last, thoughts seemed to seep in again. Small upsetting thoughts, every little one of them labeled 'reality.' But she was too tired to mind. Too tired, period. It was so much easier to reach over again and kiss him, her lips sensing the ridge of his scar. Her hand slipped inside his jacket, feeling his ribs through the moist shirt, his hollow stomach, the loose waistband of his pants. What was she doing, she wondered, what promise did her hand make? Should she stop? Was he even capable of...? Their lips separated.

"You don't have to," he said. She focused on his eyes.

"I know," she said. "But maybe I need to. Is that all right?" Her hand slipped under the waistband, feeling a soft lump inside his boxershorts. It stirred when she touched it. He mumbled a few words. "What?" she asked.

"No baseball," he said. They chuckled at the memory. It did strange things with Ariel's heart, making it flutter. Their first kisses on Necking Hill. She squeezed the lump, raising her mouth to his ear.

"I, ehm," she whispered. "I may have become fond of sports." Her hand closed around his hardening cock. "Are you even...," she asked, hating her choice of words. "I mean, can you...?" He inhaled sharply.

"You mean," he said, "can I get it up?" She just held on to his eyes. "I don't know," he went on. "Honestly, you see, ever since that day I never..." Ariel cupped her hand over the pulsing bulge, feeling its warmth. She silenced him with another kiss. The flesh in her hand stiffened until she held a fat, swollen rod that radiated heat.

"Oh, yes, you sure can," she mumbled into his mouth. He cupped her face in his hands. It caused their kiss to end.

"Ariel," he said, breathing heavily. "You are so... And we just... I'm not sure we should..." Ariel chuckled.

"I see," she said. "I scare you. You wonder what happened to this shy, ugly virgin? She's never seen a hard cock, has she, let alone jerked one off, or God forbid: sucked one off. Or even worse..." She grinned at his blushing face. Her hand started massaging his penis. "Don't you worry, honey. I've learned boys don't care, ugly or beautiful, tits or no tits..." She put her face as close to his crotch as the cramped space allowed, feeling his heat against her skin.

"Ariel," he said. "Please, not like this." As if stung by a bee, Ariel jumped away from him, a wave of icy disappointment hitting her.

"Not like what, Tim Bradlee?" she screamed. "Not like fucking what?" She reached for the door handle with a shaking hand. "Is that what you have to say after all this, Tim? All this fucking theater?" The door didn't open. "Open it! Let me out!" Tim's hand gripped her shoulders. She shook to get them off of her, but he pulled her towards him with unsuspected strength.

"Ariel," he said in a very soft voice, his face looming over her. "Ariel, please understand. I love you. I want you very much, but not in here, not like this. This moment is very special to me, please, believe me." She stared at him, a thousand vile and accusing words piling up at the back of her head, but she couldn't get even one of them out. Not in here, he'd said, not like this. Special. Love. What did it mean? She tried to escape his grip, but it was only a halfhearted effort now.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked. He shrugged, his grin returning, leaving and returning again, like a bleak, hesitant sun in a very clouded sky.

"I, eh...," he started. "I mean, can't we find a better place? With, well, like, a bed? More space? More time?" Ariel relaxed in his grip, her gaze morphing from anger into incredulity into wide-eyed wonder. Then she started laughing.

"Oh, fuck, Tim," she chuckled. "Will it always be like this with us? You saying something, me getting upset, wanting to run off, you telling me I misunderstood, me having to beat myself for being stupid?" He chuckled with her, pulling her closer until their mouths were close enough for a kiss.

"I guess I could be clearer," he offered. It caused Ariel to chuckle some more. Then they kissed.

"'Bed' sounded clear enough to me," she said, coming up from the kiss. "Any suggestions?"

***

"The third step is creaking," Ariel whispered as she led Tim Bradlee up the stairs, holding his hand. "The last one too." The house was dark, except for a tiny nightlight down the hall. Ariel felt hot, her heart fluttering. The hand holding Tim's was sweaty. Later on, this might all seem funny, like in sitcoms. Not now, though. Right now, everything was nerve-racking.

What she was doing now would have felt ridiculous only hours ago, inviting someone to her room whom she'd called an asshole only yesterday, getting into bed with him, letting him fuck her. Oh, not that the fucking per se was the problem now, was it? She'd been fucked thoroughly by now, hadn't she? She'd sucked cocks, felt them in every hole she had to offer. Of course, but had that girl ever been her, really? It must have, she'd come like crazy, hadn't she, in the huge bed with the marshmallow bimbos? Yes, yes, but why was she so nervous now?

They reached the landing, both holding their shoes in their free hand. It was past eleven, Ariel's mother never stayed up later, but she might lie awake after what happened today. Maybe she'd heard the key in the lock, the occasional stumbling? Ariel shouldn't worry, she was a grown woman now, wasn't she? She shouldn't care, but she did, and it irritated her. She wasn't the little mouse that lived here anymore, was she? Since she'd left, everything, the town, the houses, the people, they all had become so small, so shrunken. Just like this house, her mother, everything. Why would she care anymore at all? But she did.

She put down the shoes and opened her bedroom door. Her fingertips found the light switch. Turning, she watched Tim, the tussled hair, the wounded grin. She put a finger to her lips. Then she shrugged out of her jacket and started undoing the buttons of her blouse. Why did her fingers tremble? She should be drunk to do this, shouldn't she? But she wasn't. Her fingers undid the zipper of her skirt and she jiggled out of it. The room was cold, but her body felt hot. Putting her hands behind her back to open her bra, she looked up to find his gaze. His eyes were big as he stared at her, his back against the closed door. Suddenly feeling insecure, she reached for the switch of her small bedside lamp and clipped it on.

"Please, kill the big light," she said. In the soft, warm light of her bedside lamp, she turned her body away from him as she snapped the hook and shook the garment off her shoulders. Useless thing, she thought, why wear it at all? She pulled down her pantyhose, almost toppling over. Still wearing her panties, she slid under the duvet, shielding her eyes as she watched him.

"What are you waiting for?" she whispered, damning the tremor in her voice. He stepped forward and sat down on her side of the bed, one hand cupping her face, the other caressing her hair.

"I know you disagree," he said. "But you are so beautiful." He brought his head to hers and kissed her. Sudden emotions clogged her throat. Why did he have to say that? Again? By now he should know better not to lie. But his kiss wasn't a lie, was it? It felt true, his lips were real, his tongue... and her response. All true.

"Now, let me see you," Ariel gasped when the kiss ended. He didn't move. She pushed him. He mumbled, but still didn't move until Ariel finally understood. She chuckled, then tried not to. "You're afraid," she said. "You're afraid I might find you ugly." He just looked, then hung his head. A wave of empathy engulfed her, chasing away her nerves. Ariel lifted his chin with her hands, then rose to her knees to kiss him.

"Don't be silly," she said. "This is me, you know? Ariel. I live ugly." Her hands went to his coat, opening it and pushing it off his shoulders. Next, she pulled his sweater over his head; his polo shirt followed, and the t-shirt below. Then she stopped as she stared at his boney chest. An ugly scar ran from his left collarbone down past his nipple and across his ribs. She followed it with her fingertip, then looked up, but he had turned his face away. She went down and traced the scar with kisses. "You must have been in a lot of pain and all this time..." She whispered to his hollow stomach. "I'm so sorry." She felt his hands on her head.

"Don't be," he said. "I'm fine. I'm with you. I'm happy now." He sat back and wriggled out of his jeans, exposing more scars on his legs. Ariel slid under the duvet, opening the other side for him.

"Get in, you're cold," she said. He removed his socks and slipped under the duvet. His cold skin made her shiver, but she pushed her back into him, pulling his icy arms around her.

"We're quite the couple," she whispered. They stayed like that until he was warm. Then she turned to him and they kissed. "I have dreamt of these kisses, you know?" she said. "Ever since the first one. Even all those months when you were an asshole." Her hand went down to his crotch, where she pulled off his boxershorts and found his soft but swollen cock, cupping his balls. "Healthy where it counts," she mumbled. Why was she joking, she thought, why talk at all? His mouth was close to her ear, breathing on it, making her shiver.

"I never...put it to work since the accident," he whispered. "You see... there never was a reason." Ariel studied his face; it was so open, so... young. He'd never had a reason, he said? What could he mean? Her hand started slowly rubbing the thick flesh of his cock. Her mouth found his; he groaned into it. His large, warm hands roamed her body. Through swollen flesh she sensed firmness, he grew big in her hand. Her mind flew back to the huge bed in the loft, to the jocks and their cocks. But this was different, so different. Ariel threw back part of the duvet, putting her face close to the cock. The head seemed purple in the soft light and it shone. Her nostrils flared from the musky smell.

With a fingertip she traced a pulsing vein, sensing the rush of blood below. She'd taken hard cocks in her drunken mouth, hadn't she, and elsewhere? She tried to remember, forcing her mind through a haze of alcoholic memories. There were no visual details, though, just feelings, sensations. She touched the shining helmet, making him shiver. Everything back then had been a blur, one big sweaty amalgam of images and soundbites, odors and fragrances floating in drugs and alcohol. This, though, was... real. She pointed the tip of her tongue at the ridge of the cock's head, touching. She felt his hands around her head as he pulled her up. He was just a silhouette.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice thick. "You, ehm, you don't need to do this if you don't want to, you know... with your mouth, I mean?" Ariel looked up, not knowing what to say. His now hard cock pulsated in her hand; he was big, real big; she could just about close her fingers around it. "You see," he went on, "I don't want you to feel... degraded or something, you know? Like, humiliated." Degraded, he said? Humiliated? Wasn't it supposed to be degrading not to allow her to suck his cock? Hadn't it always been humiliating that boys didn't even think of fucking her? She stared up at him, feeling the trickle of a tear on her cheek.

"Ah, yes," she said. "I understand." She turned away, pulling the duvet over her shoulder. Crouching into a fetal curl, her tears sank into her pillow. "You can leave now, Tim. Please, fuck off." Her voice sounded muffled; her eyes were closed. A hand touched her back.

"Ariel?" His voice came from somewhere close, yet far away. "Please tell me, what's going on? I don't even know what I did wrong. You see, I just want to respect you." Ariel shrugged to get away from his touch, but he insisted. So, she rose and slipped out of the bed, standing on the cold floor.

"Respect?" she asked, her voice rising. "Respect? I am ready to give you the best blowjob of your life, like a girl is supposed to, and you talk about respect? Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am? Fuck off with your games, Tim Bradlee, I've had enough!" He'd risen too, his hands gesturing for her to be less loud, but Ariel only got louder. "I don't care who hears this, you moron! Get out of my room, out of my life!" He sat silently, his hands still up in mute protest.

"I won't," he then said, his voice calm. Ariel screamed, jumping forward, her fists ready to beat him, but he caught them. With his face very close to hers, he said: "I understand why you're upset, Ariel, but you are mad at the wrong person. I love you and all I want to do is making you happy. You must believe me. It is the truth."

"The truth, eh?" Ariel said, suddenly calm. "Then let me tell you some truths, so you know who I am, at last. You still think I am the little flat, skinny virgin who left this town, too ugly for whatever a man needed. That girl is gone, Tim. Even as ugly as she still is, she's been fucked by dozens of men, in her mouth, her cunt and even her ass. And she did it with women, big titted, fat-assed women. She doesn't need your respect, Tim Bradlee. If she wants to suck your cock, it is her decision. If she wants to be fucked, it is her decision, you understand?" Her voice had risen again; now she panted as she pushed out the last words: "You may say you love me, but you still refuse to fuck me." A profound silence followed. Then it was interrupted by a distant voice.

"Are you all right, darling?" It was her mother's.

"I'm fine, mom," Ariel answered. "I was on the phone. Go to sleep, everything's all right. Sorry for waking you up."

Tim Bradlee leant against the headboard. His cock had shrunk, Ariel saw. A slimy thread hung from its tip. His eyes were drooping, even the grin seemed gone.

"You are wrong, Ariel," he said after clearing his throat. "I have wanted to fuck you even before that time on the boardwalk. But, you know, I am shy. You think: a shy quarterback? Yes. You see, it was only this overwhelming need for you that got me as far as even speaking to you. And even when you turned me down over and over again, I couldn't stay away. I had to try, thinking up excuses again and again. So, I was in heaven when you allowed me that date. I was in heaven when you kissed me, Ariel." She stared at him in the dim light, too confused to say anything.

"Why should I believe you, Tim?" she at last whispered, rubbing her arms against the cold. "The whole world lies to me. The girl I lived with in Portland, she said she loved me, that I was beautiful. I even put on a sexy dress she gave me and went out in it like a scrawny pig with makeup. Then she fucked some big titted bimbo instead. You tell me I'm beautiful and that you love me, Tim. What fat bimbo are you fucking on the side?" He came around the bed, pulling her cold body into an embrace.

"I'm just a clumsy boy, Ariel," he said, hugging her. "But I never lie. I love you, just you. There is nobody else; never was." Ariel's head pressed into his boney chest. She so much wanted to believe him. What was there to live for if she didn't? Her body tingled where his warmth entered her skin. Her arms went around his waist; the mushy tip of his cock smeared its cold wetness into her stomach. She looked up.

"Why do I always want to believe you, Tim?" she said.

"Because it's the truth?" he answered.

***

She kissed his cock that night, licking its tip and down its whole length, then from his balls back up to the slit where salty slime coated her lips. The hard flesh almost hummed under her tongue. She smiled, hearing his moans as his fingers went through her hair, his big hands tightening and relaxing.

She knew what to do and how to do it. She'd seen the fat-lipped bimbos do it. Following their lead, she'd licked and slurped the hard jock-cocks, rubbing them and taking them into her mouth. But it had all been in a drunken haze, hadn't it? Drugged too. It had been like looking at someone else doing it. Not now, though. Now it felt like... a first time. There was a mixture of awkwardness and excitement, fear and exhilaration. She really felt him, didn't she? This was real. She tasted him as her head buzzed and shivers ran down her spine.

Then, right when she opened her mouth to sink it over his cock, he groaned and pulled her up.

"Wait," he whispered. "Just wait for a moment or I'll... I really can't..." Big, fat spurts interrupted his words, hitting her chest and chin, trickling down her skin like hot little rivulets. Confused, she looked up.