Wants And Needs Ch 02

I feel odd.

I try to concentrate on the feeling, to put it firmly in focus, so I can look at it, identify it, understand it. Wrongness feels even worse when it's generic, when you don't know what's up.

But every time I try to do it, all I see is mist. Colourful, swirling, and... hazy...

I'm scrubbing the grime off the oven racks. It's curious, isn't it? That does not sound like me. At all! How did I get roped into this insufferable chore? Oh, right.

I volunteered.

"Thanks again for helping out, sis," Chris says behind me, flopping onto the couch and clicking on the TV. Ugh, kill me now. Who have I become? And when did my loser brother get so entitled?

Sigh. That's not a very selfless way to think, is it? I should be happy that bro gets to spend some time watching something he likes. If cleaning the oven makes it possible for him to do that, then it's a good thing, isn't it?

That makes me scrub a little harder.

Of course, no one changes magically overnight, and a part of me still wants to lash out at him for this, but I bite my tongue instead.

"No problem!" I say, a little too cheerily. Chris turns around, considering me. He's probably wondering if I'm mocking him, but he eventually must decide I'm being serious, and turns back towards the TV.

I shake my head. Yes, there are unpleasant moments of friction to this, but nobody said becoming a better person would be easy. And I do want to be a better person.

I think I've always wanted that, deep down.

It's the only explanation that makes sense: I wanted to, but I was missing the final piece that would let everything fall into place. That talk with the elderly shopowner must have provided me with that final piece, because ever since then, it's like I'm incapable of straying.

Every time I'm about to, the mists close in again, softening my annoyance into a pliant contentment. No, that sounds too passive, it's more like...

I gain an acute understanding of other people's wants and needs.

Now, the old man was kind to talk to me, but no conversation is going to radically alter someone's behaviour. Obviously he just gave me the final push to do something I'd secretly wanted all along.

That's the only logical explanation. Isn't it?

Besides, it would be different if it was a conversation with Sylvia, or something, but no, this is some dude whose store I didn't even know existed.

I don't listen to old geezers as a personal rule, and the dude isn't just old, he's, like, ancient. He looked at me with wise, discerning eyes, though, and he did give me the pendant, so I guess he's not so bad. For a mummy.

There's also the positives to consider. I used to skulk around and be resentful all the time, and that gave people in my life pause. Now, I'm constantly surrounded by positivity. People are learning to count on me, rely on me, isn't that beautiful?

I notice the way Chris avoids looking at the dishes in the sink, so I offer to do them.

If mom works late again, I cook dinner and make sure she has a hot meal waiting for her when she gets home.

It's like I can't help but think about other people before myself, and get this: they're all loving it. Chris actually says "thanks" to me without any sarcasm, and Mom actually hugs me now, which is... nice.

Sylvia even mentioned that I've been, gasp, "mature" lately. Mature? Moi? The ultimate queen of slacking off and living life on chill mode? Who am I anymore?

But then... there's that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, like an itch I can't scratch.

Ugh, why am I even thinking so much about this stuff? There's no great mystery to unravel here, I'm just being helpful. What's so weird and so bad about that?

My phone buzzes with a text from Sylvia. She wants me to proofread her English essay again before she turns it in tomorrow. I text her back: Absolutely! I'm happy to help in any way I can.

I finish cleaning the oven and move on to mopping the kitchen floor. The more I help out, the less I mind it. The more I accommodate others, the more natural it feels. I'm morphing into the perfect friend, daughter, sister. I should be happy.

So why doesn't this wrongness just go away already?

***

I'm attentive.

It's a weird paradox, isn't it? I feel unable to focus on specific aspects of my internal experience, and my mind is often foggy... quite literally. And yet, it's like I have a set of antennae permanently up and listening for signals, these days. Specifically, listening for the needs of others.

Every time Sylvia yawns, I ask her if she's tired - no, she says, she just finds sociology boring, like I do. I guess some subjects are beyond even her nerdy powers. At regular intervals, I ask her if she wants a glass of water, even though we're at her place, so normally it would be her asking me if she can get me some water.

"You're being super attentive today, Phoebe," Sylvia says after the third time I offer her a glass of water. "You sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," I say, waving her concern away. "Just trying to be a better friend, that's all."

Sylvia narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn't press the issue. Instead, she takes the water and smiles. "Well, in that case, let me know if there's anything I can do for you in return."

I shake my head, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "I don't want anything in return, silly. I just want to help."

She studies me for a moment longer before turning back to the textbook. "All right, if you say so."

We study in silence - or at least she does, I couldn't focus on the page before me if my life depended on it. But I can sense her discomfort, because again, I'm very attentive. She's sitting uneasily in the chair, stealing glances at me from the book.

Maybe I've overdone it. I don't want to make this weird, or anything, it's not like I'm her personal asistant.

It's just... I don't have anything better to do with my time, right? Besides, Sylvia deserves it. She's been there for me through thick and thin, and I haven't been there for her. I need to stop being so selfish.

"Phoebe," Sylvia says hesitantly, breaking the silence at last. "Is this about the group project still? I've forgiven you, it's fine. You don't have to, you know..."

"It's not that!" I rush to say. "It just made me realise how everything in my life was about me me me me, and I don't want that anymore."

"And you deserve credit for that," Sylvia says, delicately, tentatively. "But... have you noticed anything... a bit too different about yourself lately?"

"Like what?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"I don't know," she says, looking down at her textbook. "You just seem... more agreeable than usual. Like, way more."

"You know," I say, "I kinda resent the implication here. Y'all are acting so surprised that I can change so much, so quickly. Did you really have such a low opinion of me?"

"That's totally not what I-" Sylvia says, before stopping. "It isn't just me, then! Others have noticed it, too?"

"Yeah yeah," I say, rolling my eyes. "No good deed goes unpunished."

We resume studying, in silence - an even more awkward one, this time. I don't want Sylvia to be uncomfortable, but I also don't want her to prod too much. I already obsess enough about this topic in my own time.

I've looked at it from a thousand different perspectives, and no matter the vague wrongness, I haven't found anything genuinely disturbing or odd about my new behaviour. So what else could I tell her, except what I already have?

I'm trying to change. That's all there is to it. For sure.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text, this time from Derek. I open it straight away, of course, because he might have a want, or need, that I can fulfill, and that's very very important.

Hey, can you come over? I need your help with something.

Mmmh. I eye Sylvia, then the phone once again.

Which one to prioritise?

Sylvia seems pretty uncomfortable around me at the moment, so maybe that's a false alternative: if I just leave, it might actually improve the situation. She could study in peace, and have more time to process the changes in my demeanour, and I could go help Derek with... whatever it is he needs.

Though I can probably imagine what it's about.

Of course, my study time should probably also be part of this equation. I don't want my sociology professor to be disappointed in me. But I can always stay up and study in the middle of the night. Diligent students do that all the time, right?

The decision is made, then. I don't even hesitate before typing back a reply.

"Sure thing. I'll be right there."

I get up and start gathering my things, and at that, Sylvia looks up from her textbook, a frown on her face. "Where are you going?"

I need to make sure I formulate this the right way. I don't want to get her the wrong impression here, like that I'm leaving because I'm upset at her, or something. So I give her my brightest smile, and say, "Uh, I just have to run an errand I, like, toootally forgot about. I'll be back in a bit, I promise."

She eyes me suspiciously, but doesn't say anything. I grab my backpack and head for the door.

Only when it closes, do I stop feeling her gaze glued to the back of my neck.

***

When I get to Derek's place, he greets me with a wide, surprised smile. Seeing his delight makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Pleasing others feels great!

"Wow, you got here fast," he says, grinning.

"Of course," I say, careful to keep the duh out of my voice: it's never pleasant to feel like you're being called dumb. "You needed me, so here I am." Where else would I be?

Derek hesitates for a moment, seemingly confused by my response. He makes to say something, then stops. "Well, okay then," he finally says with a shrug. "Thanks, I guess."

What a sweetie. He's so concerned about me. I really have been an unfair, rotten bitch to him all these years, but I plan to make it up with interests. I'm going to be so nice to him.

"No problem!" I say. "What do you need help with?"

He gestures to the couch. "Uhm, have a seat."

Ohh, this sounds serious! I sit down, watching him closely, trying to divine any particular desire or necessity he's not verbally expressing. He looks stiff and nervous as he sits down next to me, his thigh pressing against mine.

I can feel the heat radiating off of him. The physical contact is nice, but what's even nicer is the fact that he enjoys it.

"I was hoping you could help me with something," he says, his hand resting on my knee. "I mean... you said it wouldn't necessarily be a regular thing, but you also said to tell you if I needed something, and, uh..."

I almost laugh out loud - but of course that wouldn't do, I don't want to mock him. It's just... guys. Wow. He literally obscenely proposed that I'd suck his cock, and now that I've done it, he's suddenly all timid and shy? I get it, though. I'm an attentive girl, after all.

What's going on is that he's now afraid that it was a one-off, that he's got a taste of the cherry and now he's going to miss out. Fortunately, he's got nothing to fear.

"Just spit it out, dude," I say at last, mock-punching his shoulder to prod him on. "What do you want me to do?"

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. "I want you to make me feel good," he says, his hand moving up my thigh. "Uh... would you give me a handjob?"

Really? That's it? Why couldn't he just, well, ask?

But I know, I know. I need to reassure him that he did the right thing. If he was feeling a little pent up, of course he was right to call me. Sure, he can jack off by himself, but if he prefers it this way, why shouldn't he get it? I'm available, after all.

I don't hesitate. He needs to understand that it's okay to take up space. That his needs matter to me.

I drop to my knees in front of him, unzip his pants, and take him in my hand. He looks at me with an expression that could be relief, or maybe excitement.

I don't know what answer he was expecting, but he probably thought I would at least, like, say something.

But this speaks louder than a thousand words, doesn't it?

His cock feels warm and heavy in my hand, and I can feel it throb already. I start to stroke him slowly, enjoying the feel of him between my fingers. Soft and hard at once, smooth and yet veiny. It feels good.

But not as good as his reaction. He groans and leans back, closing his eyes. "Wow, Phoebe. Wow, just..."

I'm just the nicest friend ever. See, Sylvia? I can change. Y'all don't need to act so shocked every time I do something selfless. Just look at me now.

As cathartic as these thoughts are, they're also distracting me. It's kinda selfish to focus on my image now, rather than on the... literal... task at hand. I add a little more pressure, moving my hand up and down his cock in long, firm strokes.

I can feel him hardening even more, almost straining in my hand, and it gives me a thrill to know that I'm the one doing this to him.

Attending to his needs.

As I continue to work him over, I glance up at his face. I want to drink in every detail.

His jaw is clenched, and sweat glistens on his brow. He looks so... vulnerable in this moment. It would be easy to see my position as a submissive one, and in many ways, I guess it is... but there's also a degree of control in it.

I have a firm grip on his most... prominent attribute. I'm regulating the pace of his experience, curating it to make it the best possible for him. I'm playing his cock like a fine instrument.

When I think about it like that, it's all blurry, who's serving whom, and I actually kinda enjoy that ambiguity. I'm not some meek and passive sex doll, I'm proactively making dear Derek have a great time. Isn't it wonderful?

Isn't it just what friends do?

"Phoebe, you're amazing..." Derek says as I continue this luxurious handjob, lavishing his dick with tactile attention.

My own panties are damp now, my nipples hardened through my shirt. I pick up the pace, my hand moving up and down faster, my fingers massaging him expertly.

I want him to feel good, I want to give him everything he wants, and as I watch his face contenor with pleasure, I know I'm one step closer to being a better person.

His breathing speeds up and his grip on the couch tightens. He moans wordlessly, and that's all the encouragement I need to go even faster. I add a little bit of pressure just below the head of his cock, circling my thumb around the sensitive area until he gasps louder.

It's time.

His cock twitches and quivers in my hand, kept still only by my gentle, firm grip. And then, it begins to pump.

"That's it," I say coyly, "so good. Cum yourself into my hand. That's it, keep going."

I don't let him go until he's fully spent, even as he quivers with over-stimulation towards the end. I make sure to harvest every rope of cum, to milk every last drop out of him. It would be irresponsible to do otherwise: it would simply shorten the time between now, and the next moment of pent-up frustration.

At last, I release his glistening cock, and he shivers as I lean forward to lap at it like an ice cream cone, licking it clean. I lick his cum out of my hand too, for good measure, and then rejoin him on the couch.

For a moment, we both just sit there panting, trying to catch our breaths, and our bearings. Then Derek looks at me with a glimmer in his eyes I haven't seen before.

"Damn, Phoebe," he says hoarsely. "That was... wow."

I blush, but I also squeal with glee inside. Doing well by doing good. "I... I'm glad you liked it."

He laughs and ruffles my hair. "Liked it? I more than liked it. You're a natural."

I smile shyly at the compliment. "Thanks... I guess I just want to be... good at..." I trail off, unsure of how to finish the sentence without getting all deep. He probably doesn't want to hear about my radical new outlook on life, at least not right now.

He doesn't seem to notice my awkwardness though, likely still lost in the afterglow of his orgasm. "You were more than good," he says with a lazy grin. But then, his face suddenly darkens, and that of course makes me snap to attention. What could be wrong?

"The guys don't believe me about us, you know?"

I cock my head, trying to figure out which guys he's talking about. "Oh," I say at last, "You mean Tyler and Marty?"

"Yeah, sorry," he says, which almost makes me pout. I don't want him to apologise. It's my fault for not remembering who he hangs out with on campus. "They think I'm making it up to seem cool."

"I'm sorry they don't believe you," I say, to buy time. Time to think of a solution. My mind is in full analysis mode, racing in the background, trying to conjure up something that will bring the smile back to his face. How can I fix this? How can I please him?

An idea forms, and the words tumble out before I can stop them. "We could show them. Maybe we can, uh, let them join in some time," I blurt out, surprising even myself. "Marty and Tyler, I mean. That way, they'll see for themselves."

Derek's eyes widen, and he stares at me as if I've grown a second head. "Let them join - what? Phoebe, are you actually being serious right now?"

Uh, yeah? I think to myself. Why wouldn't I be?

But I need to phrase this gently, of course.

"Yeah, I mean, it's no big deal. We can just have a little fun and prove to them that you're not lying." I say with a shrug. "Besides, if it makes you happy..."

God. That does sound weird though, doesn't it? Like, those aren't the lengths friends would usually go to, right? I mean, I know I'm a changed person and all, but still... all of this could be a little...

Little...

The thought dissipates, like mist in the morning sun, at the smile that slowly begins to stretch on Derek's face. He looks so happy that I would go this far for him. "Only if you're sure... why not. Yeah. Let's do it." A pause. "You're really something else, you know that?"

Warmth blooms inside me and I smile. But the words also echo strangely in my mind.

I guess I... do feel like...

Something else.

***

I can feel Sylvia's eyes on me as I pack up my books, trying to act normal. I'm not sure why she's being so suspicious lately, but I can't let her know what I'm really up to. Look, I get it, the way I've been acting lately has freaked her out a little bit. But I just wish she got over it...

And if she reacts that way to the fact that I do all the chores at home, or that I'm super considerate with her, how would she react if I told her I'm about to please three guys at once? No, I don't want to have that discussion.

I don't like lying... I mean, historically I've had no problem doing it, but it doesn't fit well with my new, positive, generous disposition towards life. But I see no other choice here.

Besides, I guess, if it stops her from feeling worse, lying is justified. Her well-being matters, right?

"Hey, Phoebe," Sylvia says, sitting up. "Where are you going?"

"Um, I just have to run an errand," I say, trying to sound casual. "I'll be back soon."

"Another errand?" Sylvia raises an eyebrow. "On a Saturday night?"

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah, it's no big deal. Besides, studying on a Saturday night isn't exactly a blast either, haha."

Sylvia doesn't look convinced, or swayed by my poor attempt at humour, but she doesn't push it. Thankfully.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I leave the library and take a deep breath of the cool night air. The brisk breeze feels refreshing against my skin.

It's soothing... though, not as much as the foggy mist of happiness cocooning my thoughts right now.

I'm doing well by doing good. Of course I am. Why else would I have ever agreed to something like this?

I head towards the remote corner of campus where Derek, Marty, and Tyler are waiting for me. I check my phone for the millionth time to make sure I haven't gotten any messages about a change of plans. Nope, everything is still on, isn't that just dandy? Haha!