From Butt to Booty (23 page)

“Breathe,” I say.

She inhales.

“Exhale,” I demand. She does. “Better?” I ask.

She tenses up again. “He’s coming over here.”

“Don’t freak. He’ll think he smells bad.” I pinch her cheeks.

“What?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I don’t expand and tell her that my worst fear is a group of people recoiling from me because I smell and haven’t figured it out.

“Hi, Gert. I got you a soda, Maggie. I didn’t know what kind to get.” Jesse holds out four different ice-cold, sweating cans.

“Hi, Jesse,” I say, but he’s not even looking at me. Maggie is speechless. She’s back to looking like a puppy that’s been kicked for peeing in the wrong place.

“Thanks.” She takes the top can.

“So, you like Sprite,” he says, nodding.

“Huh?” Maggie says.

“Yes, actually Maggie here loves all types of beverages.” I jump in to rescue her.

“Good to know,” Jesse says, all sagey.

Maggie is still speechless, pinned to my side like a Halloween costume.

“So,” he says. His head swivels to take in the room, but I’m not sure his eyes ever really leave Maggie’s face.

I rack my brain trying to come up with a topic of conversation because I’m starting to lose blood flow to my left side and Maggie isn’t loosening her grip. I can’t flee from the scene. Painful as it is.

“Do you like comic books, Jesse?” I ask.

“What?” He swings his gaze back to me.

No wonder she’s creeped out. He has the I’m-going-to-nibble-on-you, very manly expression on his face. I feel my own fear beast and step back. He’s all manly and intimidating.

I repeat myself.

“I used to,” Jesse replies.

I happen to know he still collects a bunch of different kinds. It came up in a guy conversation I overheard one day. I think Adam also told me. He’s reliable.

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows and my falsetto. I’m quite the actress. “Maggie here loves Spider-Man.”

She nods quick, like a rodent scenting cheese.

“Huh. Well, I have a couple of first editions,” he says, trying not to sound too excited. But he has that little-boy-trying-not-to-let-on-that-it’s-Christmas-morning expression.

“Oh. Um, um,” Maggie stutters.

“Maggie, you were just saying the other day that you didn’t think anyone we knew could possibly have first editions, weren’t you?” I may lay it on a little thick, considering the looks they both give me. What can I say? I’m not an actress.

I push Maggie off me and toward Jesse, only half listening to him expand on his very favorite topic of graphic novels. They move away and I’m left alone again. Until I spot a familiar face.

“Ricardo,” I say, smiling.

“Jesus, chica.” He smiles broadly at me and moves in my direction. He’s really quite cute.

“Hi,” I say.

“Whassup?” he says. I guess in the two months since he’s been here he’s become fluent in teen-speak.

We look at each other for a few seconds. I don’t know how long. But then it comes over me. I want to kiss him. He’s supercute and waiting for me to say something inspired. And more importantly, I’ve had eight Mountain Dews, so I’m as high on caffeine and corn syrup as it’s possible to be. I’m inspired. Feeling reckless.

“What’s Spanish for ‘kiss’?” I ask with what I hope is a twinkle in my eye and not a total turn-off expression.

He blushes, but takes a step closer to me. “Uh—” He’s obviously trying to find the right words.

Okay, so his English hasn’t improved that much. I must be drunk—it’s the only explanation for what I do next. Only I haven’t
been drinking, so I have no explanation. I scrunch up my lips and smack them. “You know, ‘kiss.’ ” I pause to assess his reaction.

He’s smiling broadly.
“En español?”

“Sí,”
I say.

“I show you.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the more darkened recesses of the living room.

I don’t have much time to process this swift change in climate before his face is literally a heartbeat away from mine and he stops.

“En español.”
He lowers his lips to mine.

I don’t close my eyes because I’m (a) startled I had the
cojones
to flirt to this extent and (b) waiting to see if it’s me or are there really good kissers in the world?

I try to focus all my attention on my lips and my senses so I know exactly how different this kiss is from the first few ridiculous excuses. He smells good.

His lips move against mine with enough pressure that I know they’re there (as if I could remotely forget) but not so much that I feel like I’m being eaten alive. It feels good. Really good.

He pulls me closer and angles his head so his lips slant more or less across mine. His tongue touches my bottom lip, just a quick little lick asking permission. That’s what it feels like. I don’t feel impaled. I feel gooey.

I open my mouth and our tongues introduce themselves. We don’t get the same rhythm right away, but it’s
fun
kissing a boy.

I was under the impression that kissing could only be good if you like the person you’re kissing. Like there’s an emotional attachment that must take place before anything can be gooey. I can’t even try to say that Ricardo and I have any kind of emotional attachment. It’s not like we bonded over soccer trivia. He’s
not my soul mate, but he sure as hell is good for my self-esteem. I’m kissable. Definitely kissable. And good at it. It’s
fun
.

I don’t really pay too much attention to anything else going on around us. We kiss. We stop. We start talking to other people. At some point, I lose track of Ricardo. Maybe that’s best. What would I say, really? Thanks for helping me to know I’m not the problem? Keep in touch? Nice technique?

Maggie and Clarice and I head out, meeting Adam by the car. I don’t even say goodbye to Kiss Boy.

“Wow, Gert, I didn’t know you were that kind of girl,” Adam whispers to me outside.

“I didn’t know I was.” I shrug. If that kind of girl means knowing that making out should be good for me, then I’ll embrace that title. I’m that-kind-of-girl. I giggle. Who knew?

We’re all jammied up at Clarice’s with blankets and sleeping bags heaped on the floor of her family’s media room.

I can’t believe I heard correctly, so I ask Clarice to repeat. “He what?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to go down on him.”

Maggie puts down the bag of Twizzlers and swallows. “And?”

“Yeah, what’d you do?” I scramble out of my sleeping bag. This is too exciting to be weighted down by down.

She chews on her lip a little. “I did.”

Oh, to have a friend who’s been that up close and personal with a penis. I have questions. Lots and lots of questions. Most importantly, “How was it?”

She smiles. “Odd.”

I want details. “How so?”

“Did he pressure you?” Maggie demands, breaking my flow of question energy.

Clarice is startled. “No … I mean … I don’t know.”

I demand clarification. It’s so not cool if she didn’t actually want to. “Wait, this is vastly different. You didn’t want to?”

“No, I did, but he never really gave me a chance to say no. It was so fast. It was—”

“He forced you?” Maggie’s face is turning red.

“No, I could have stopped, I guess. I just wasn’t really thinking. And it was cool. Fun. Fine.” Clarice grabs a Dr Pepper and gulps it.

This requires the entire story. Maggie and I put on our invisible detective hats to figure out if Clarice was duped into kissing the snake or if she bit that apple on her own. “It was what? Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”

Now she’s all scared and shy. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

“I would really like to respect your privacy and not force you to go into graphic detail, but I’m not that nice,” I say.

Maggie shakes her head. “Me either. Spill it.”

“Oh, Maggie, you’re starting to sound like me.” I’m impressed and give her a golf clap.

She half smiles, half grimaces. I’m not sure how to read her expression.

“Okay, but aren’t you not supposed to talk about this kind of thing?” Clarice looks uncertain for a minute.

I chomp on a handful of gummy creatures. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you thinking I’m a slut or anything.”

“We don’t. Scout’s honor.” Why is a girl a slut when she’s
enjoying doing the things boys want her to do, but he’s not a slut for his part? I hate double standards. The hypocrisy is beyond unreasonable.

She sighs. “Promise?”

I cross my heart like I’m in second grade, which is weird considering we’re talking about open mouth/insert penis.

“His parents don’t get home till late. They work a lot. And so he asked me over like he always does.”

An editorial aside here: Clarice secretly hopes Spenser will be her boyfriend if she puts up with the booty calls long enough. I don’t have enough life experience to really try to convince her otherwise. She wouldn’t believe me if I tried. Maggie agrees with me. So we’re just biding our time until Clarice catches on—or her older sister kicks her butt.

Clarice continues. “Anyway, we hooked up like usual.”

I interrupt. “Define.” “Hooked up” is so freakin’ ambiguous I refuse to settle for it.

“Kissing with tongue. Topless.”

“Braless?” Maggie asks, grabbing a corn chip.

“Yeah, he took off his Wonderbra and I was totally disappointed. Boy is flat.” Clarice giggles.

We crack up. The visual of Spenser in a Wonderbra is quite delightful.

“Anyway, he kinda took my hand and put it on his pants. This isn’t the first time, but I’ve only ever just sorta laid my hand there. He was sticking up against the denim and all hard and he rubbed against me. I don’t know what came over me, but I undid the zipper and all of a sudden there he was.”

“No underwear?” I’m gaining a picture of commando Spenser that I’m not sure I want in my virgin brain.

“He had boxers on but he was poking out the top of them or something. I don’t know.” She shrugs, exasperated. “I wasn’t really studying for a pop quiz.”

To me, it’s really quite simple. “Then let’s be clear from now on that you are studying for our exams—as the only girl in the proximity of any dick, you really have to be willing to cart back details and share.”

“I second that.” Maggie nods like it’s a UN accord.

“Whatever.” Clarice glares at me. “He was just there.”

“What did it feel like?” Maggie asks.

“Soft like an old T-shirt, but superhard under that, like a—”

“Bone?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

“Thank you.” She giggles.

“So he was all rocking his hips and kissing me. He had his hands on my boobs, which was making me totally bored, but he’s a really good kisser.”

“Did he ask you to in words? A complete sentence?”

“No. He didn’t. I guess. He did this thing with his eyes and sort of guided my head. I just leaned down.” Thoughtful, she continues, “I was curious what he tasted like. And besides, it’s this total rush of power. He couldn’t think at all and seriously he would have given me anything to not stop. It’s weird how completely in my control he was.”

Even for me that seems—“That’s a little diabolical.”

“What? I didn’t say I was going to start charging him or demanding he be my sugar daddy. It’s just an observation.”

“Interesting.” I must consider this.

Maggie asks, “So did you like it?”

“Yeah, I did.” Surprise colors her tone.

We’ve all heard horror stories, and it’s pretty much assumed
that if you’re a good girl you don’t like giving head. I mean, no one I know would ever admit to liking it. It’s supposed to be dirty. It’s supposed to be that thing guys like that girls do only if they really like the guy.

“Really?” I insist.

“Yeah, it’s fun.” She smiles.

Hmm, must think. I’m utterly relieved. “Thank God.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s like this huge thing that guys like to have us do, right?”

“Aside from sex, it’s like the only thing,” Maggie offers.

I shrug. “Right, and I thought it was a given that it’d be gross and totally unfun.”

Clarice giggles. “It’s not. I mean, I guess it could be with another guy, but I had fun.”

“Thank God,” Maggie echoes me before we dissolve into laughter.