Adorkable (23 page)

His whole body, not just his penis, stiffened. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled as he tried to put some distance between us.

‘Would it be better if we spooned instead?’

‘No,’ Michael said shortly, then he shoved me away and rolled on to his back. Even in the dim light, I could see his clenched jaw. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’ Maybe I should have been freaking out or insisting that it would be better off if I slept in the spare room, but the truth … the truth was that now I was in the mood. The feel of
it
pressing into me was the same feeling I got when I was getting ready to go out and almost falling over myself in a
delicious, shivery mix of anticipation and excitement. It was the same feeling I got just as one of my favourite bands came on stage or I was in a club and a tune I loved began to play. It was a feeling that made me itch inside my own skin and it was a feeling that made me inch across the bed so I was pressed up against him.

‘Jeane,’ he said in a warning. ‘Just don’t, OK?’

‘Oh, are you nearly asleep then?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Well, I think neither of us are going to get much sleep right now and I also think that I could, like, help you out.’

He didn’t say anything and I thought I’d shocked him, because I tend to do that. Not just with Michael but with pretty much anyone who can’t deal with being honest and admitting that you have wants and needs and desires and all those other fun things.

‘Is this some new plot to mess with my head?’ Michael asked hoarsely. He had the most appalling trust issues.

‘Rather mess with something else,’ I said, and before he could demand an explanation I decided that show was a million times better than tell and I smooshed even closer so I could kiss him.

It was like kissing a plank of wood. Or it was for about five seconds and then Michael groaned and turned over so he could kiss me back with a lot more fierceness than usual. My hand snaked under the duvet and I’d barely got it inside his shorts before Michael groaned, like the other groan had just been the warm-up act, and it was game over. Move it along. Absolutely nothing to see here.

I
tried my hardest not to ‘Ewww’ as I carefully removed my sticky hand and held it in the air so I didn’t get any stuff on the duvet cover.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Michael mumbled. ‘Um, it’s been a while. Well, not a while but a while since somebody else … you know. I mean, what I’m trying to say is—’

‘I get it,’ I said quickly, but I was talking to myself as Michael had already scrambled out of bed and was halfway out of the room. Then he stuck his head back round the door.

‘Tissues. Bedside table,’ he flung at me, then disappeared.

Of course he had a box of tissues by his bed. He was a boy, after all. Though some boys I knew just had loo roll. I wiped my hand clean, peered under the duvet to make sure there was no damp patch, and, by the time Michael returned with a hangdog expression and a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms on, I was snuggled under the quilt again and attempting to look completely unfazed and non-judgey.

‘Sorry,’ he said again, as he got back into bed.

‘Honestly, it’s fine. It happens,’ I said, because it did, though it had never happened with me before. ‘Stop wigging out about it.’

‘I’m not wigging out about it. Actually, I am.’ Michael sighed. ‘And you got, like, about one minute of kissing in the end?’

It hadn’t even been a minute. More like twenty seconds, but it seemed rude to point that out.

‘You can make it up to me some other time.’ I snuggled down like I was ready to go to sleep, though after all the excitement and the build up and the total let-down I was wide awake and likely to stay that way for ever.

‘What
about I make it up to you now?’ Michael suggested and I’d have totally called him on such a cheesy line but he was already kissing me.

Sometimes when he kissed me, he made me feel like such a girl and this was one of those times, and I was kissing him back but sighing a little and stroking the back of his neck where the skin was so soft that it made me want to cry a little, which makes no sense but it was late and I was so tired that I wasn’t tired any more and I was a little sad.

‘How far do you want to go?’ Michael asked me as he kissed my neck.

‘All the way to happyland,’ I replied, grabbing his hand and putting it exactly where it was needed.

I didn’t really have to do much after that, just hum in approval every time Michael hit the right spot and soon I didn’t have to hum any more because his fingers were right
there
.

‘It kinda takes me a while,’ I whispered, when he asked me for the fifth time if he was doing it right. ‘Just be patient, I’m almost there.’

He didn’t talk any more after that, just kept kissing me, until I couldn’t kiss him back any more because I was wrenching my head back and gasping and spluttering and babbling a whole lot of nonsense, the general gist of it being that if Michael stopped what he was doing then I’d murder him. Even when I was in happyland, I was still belligerent.

And the other thing was that after the first time I could always go again, and Michael was hard and he kept grinding into my hip without even realising. Or maybe he did know but wasn’t as unshy when it came to talking about it as I was.
Besides, it was obvious he knew his way around the main attractions and responded well to instruction so it seemed a pity to let this unique set of circumstances go to waste.

I didn’t just blurt it out, which was a first for me. Instead we kissed for a bit and I was still in the mood. Also Michael was still with the grinding and the gritting of his teeth and just as I was about to ask if he wanted to be taken out of his misery, he put his hands on my hips to stop me from moving.

‘Shall we … like, we could do what we just did but together, or do you thinkitwouldberushingitifwehadsex?’ That was how he said it, one long clump of words all stuck together, his voice breathy and shrill. I hadn’t expected him to be the one to ask first. ‘Is it bad that I asked? Am I pressuring you?’

‘Like you could even try,’ I scoffed, kissing away any sting left by my words. ‘And no, I don’t think it would be rushing things. After what we’ve just done, actual sex is only going a little bit further.’

It was a very important step in a relationship, but we weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, and it wasn’t going to make much difference if we did have sex. It wasn’t as if having sex meant we were committing to anything more than, well, just having sex with each other.

Michael agreed with me. ‘Cool,’ he said, as he leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer. ‘Condoms.’

I peered over his shoulder to see more foil squares than even the time I’d gone with Ben to the sexual health clinic, because he had a rash over his bits from going commando while wearing very tight skinny jeans, and the nurse had totally thought we were sexually active with each other and had given us a
carrier bag stuffed full of Durex. As Ben said, she obviously had the worst gaydar in the world. Maybe Michael had been to see the same woman.

He grabbed a couple and handed them to me. I shoved them back at him. ‘You do it,’ I demanded.

‘You’re such a control freak that I thought
you’d
want to do it.’

‘I’ve only ever put one on a banana in Sex Ed,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘The other times the guy I was with did it, but thanks for making me feel
so
special at a time like this.’

Michael grinned and it seemed right that even though we were both naked and in bed together, we were still bickering. We argued; it was our thing.

‘Luckily, I’ve put them on other things besides bananas,’ he said slyly and I had to kiss the smug smile off his face because he didn’t look at all pretty like that.

There was more kissing, a lot more kissing, a short pause while Michael took care of business and then … Michael was on top of me and then with a bit of adjusting and some tense whispering, which is never that sexy, he was inside me and I was like whoa! Because no matter how many times I’ve done it (and I haven’t done it that many times), the moment that you begin to do it, really do it, is always a shock. And it always feels weird and you want to freak out because when you think about it sex is strange. Even the concept of sex is strange. And all these things are rushing through your head and it’s a bit awkward and uncomfortable and sometimes it never stops being awkward and uncomfortable but this time as I frowned and panicked and wondered if someone who occasionally shopped
in the children’s department was mature enough to be having of the sex and if this would change everything between me and Michael and if it would be a good change or a bad change and once we’d had sex maybe I wouldn’t see him for dust, which would mess with my head, Michael stopped what he was doing so he could kiss me very gently on my scrunched-up forehead.

‘Hey, Jeane,’ he murmured. ‘Are you going weird on me?’

‘I’m not going weird, I’ve been weird all my life,’ I stated, and Michael smiled and he kissed me again and I could feel every molecule and atom and neuron that made up my being stop having a tizzy and settle back down and I could move again and wrap my arms and legs around Michael and kiss him back. And actually sex wasn’t always that strange. Sometimes it could be pretty awesome.

It didn’t quite get to awesome this first time with Michael but that was all right, although he was a total boy about it.

‘But you did come, right?’ he said after he’d come because sex, like life, is usually easier for dudes. ‘’Cause we can go again if you give me a few minutes or I could, you know, sort of, like,
help
?’

Sometimes he was the dictionary definition of a nice boy and maybe if we carried on doing it and sex still didn’t get to be pretty awesome, I’d take him up on the offer, but, right now, I was mellow and relaxed and I didn’t really need anything else but to burrow deeper under the covers and destroy Michael’s faux-hawk with my fingers. It was so stiff with hair product that even two orgasms hadn’t been enough to diminish it.

‘Look, I didn’t come but if I had a problem with that then you’d be the first to know,’ I said as I ruffled his hair. Even
though I was only touching his scalp, I could feel his entire body tense up. ‘It was our first time and first times can be a bit odd so don’t get in a strop about it.’

I kissed his furrowed brow, which was a good indication of just how mellow I was. Normally I’d have told him to stop whining and, if he didn’t, I’d have totally kicked his arse.

‘But I thought it was good,’ Michael complained. His eyes widened. ‘Wasn’t I any good?’

‘You have mad skillz,’ I told him, which was the truth. Michael had taken time and effort and had done something with his fingers that in the normal way would have had me shrieking and promising to buy him a pony. ‘Now shut up. This is supposed to be a time for quiet reflection.’

I’d
never known her so quiet or so still. So quiet and still that she didn’t seem like Jeane at all, but some other girl with peach-coloured hair. It was because I’d been a crap shag. I’d been all wham bam, thank you, ma’am, and the only reason why she wasn’t kicking me out of bed was because it was my bed and her bed was occupied by members of Duckie.

I couldn’t understand it because I’d paid a lot of attention to her clitoris as I’d been instructed by two of the other girls I’d slept with. I hadn’t had performance anxiety either, although I’d been worried that once Jeane was naked I wouldn’t fancy her. She was kind of chubby but a bit flat-chested out of her clothes, and that shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was. Maybe it was because Jeane’s clothes were so hideous that looking at her naked was the better option.

Or it might have been because Jeane was comfortable with her own body. Not once did she moan about her thighs or her
pot belly or about how fat she supposedly was like every other girl I knew, even the really skinny ones because they wanted you to say, ‘Oh, fat? I think what you meant to say is that you’re really fit.’ That wasn’t Jeane’s style and anyway her skin was soft and smooth and I liked that she had proper muscles in her arms and legs. Sometimes when I’m with a girl, even just hugging a girl, they can feel so fragile and frail that I’m frightened of breaking them.

Not Jeane. A weapon of mass destruction couldn’t break Jeane, but she hadn’t come and I knew she was going to put me through hell for it. I knew it and I was dreading it and she was stroking my hair and kissing my face and I knew that the minute I relaxed she’d probably do something evil to my nutsack.

‘Please, Michael, stop angsting about my non-orgasm,’ she said with an irritated edge to her voice. ‘I was close and then I wasn’t. It happens. It’s not, like, an exact science. Like, sometimes when I’m doing it to myself, my timing goes all wrong.’

‘It does?’ I managed to spit out because my mind had just gone into a tailspin at Jeane’s casual reference to the fact that she masturbated. I mean, I know that some girls do, but generally they don’t talk about it.

‘Course it does. And, seriously, you were good. Much, much better than I expected you to be.’ I think I was getting used to Jeane now because I didn’t automatically take offence when she insulted me. ‘If you tell me that Scarlett gave you tips on that thing you did with your index finger, my world might end.’ Jeane looked like she was going to cry. ‘I’ll have to bake her some cookies.’