TEMPTATION - A Bad Boy Romance (3 page)

Exhibit A:
David carefully avoids the question about me, that is to say, his
girlfriend
. Why not answer? Why not tell her that I was the love of his life and that he’d send her a 3000-word essay about how we met? Instead, silence. Why didn’t he want her to know he was seeing anyone? Answer: sex.

Exhibit B:
In response to my deliberate trap (“didn’t have the same needs” …Annie’s a bit too forward here, even if I say so myself) my allegedly loving boyfriend doesn’t enquire about those needs but dives right in to “help”. This could either mean that he’s a caring soul who’s offering a shoulder to cry on, or, it could mean the other thing: sex.

Exhibit C:
The crazy-jealous girlfriend, who really has no business questioning her boyfriend’s honesty when she’s already two full emails into an elaborate lie she hasn’t quite thought through to the end. Why did she have to lay traps at all? What was she going to do with the awkward fact that his emails were getting shorter and almost less friendly? What was she so afraid of anyway? Obviously: sex.

It was a strange few days. I guess I had almost expected him to just jump right in with something inappropriate, and that catching him would be simple. But, annoyingly, it seemed like cheating wasn’t just a question of putting cheater and hot girl next to each other and waiting for a reaction.

I thought about this and felt a little silly: of course, Annie would have to
seduce
him.

It was one thing being polite to an old friend, and quite another to turn down her obvious advances. Which I have to admit I, and I mean Annie, didn’t actually make. I couldn’t pay attention during my piano lesson that day, and kept racing through the piece and getting snagged on the same difficult bit, over and over again.

He walked me home that evening, as usual, but this time there was a girl walking beside us, a weird imaginary girl who I had been stupid enough to name. The sun had just gone down and both of our arms were crisping up with the cool air. Let me just say: I loved this boy with all my heart. Really. So that you’ll be less judgmental about what happens next. A steaming jogger wheezed by us, briefly making eye contact with us both and then bounding away, uninterested in any of my life’s dramas.

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” I said.

“What?”

“That girl, she was so pretty.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t notice.”

Liar.

“Yeah she was. She had really pretty green eyes,” I continued.

“Cool.”

“A pretty green, almost like a cat’s eyes. Really pretty.”

“Pretty eyes can be so nice on a girl.”

“Oh my god, David, do you have to objectify her like that?”

He turned to look at me, puzzled.

“What’s gotten into you?” he said, and I could do nothing but bat my apparently inferior eyes at him.

“Nothing.”

We walked on, and the space between us grew. I reached out and grabbed his hand and held it, and we continued walking like that, although this also felt wrong somehow. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I had made my promises to him, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have my own …temptations. That I didn’t
want
him too. Keeping promises wasn’t easy for me either, you know. In fact, it was times like this that I would have given anything to just let go, and hold him as close as I could, both of us sinking into each other… Just because I was a romantic, it didn’t mean that I didn’t
crave
him. And his body.

I suddenly pulled on his arm and yanked him quickly behind a bush along the path, pulling him to crouch down on the ground with me.

“What are you…?” he started, but I kissed him hard, pinning both his hands down onto the damp ground with mine.

David, trusting, sweet, innocent David kissed back generously. As though I wanted to find something there, I sent a devouring tongue all over him, kissing his cheeks and chin and then pressing my lips hard against his again, delivering a slow, deep kiss. Then we looked at each other.

What if, horror of all horrors, he wasn’t even sexually attracted to me? What if I had denied him so long that he basically thought of me like a sister, or a friend? The thought made me colder than the cold ground we were kneeling down on.

I grabbed his hand, palm wet and studded with small stones, pulled down the waist of my skirt and pressed it between my legs. In this cold, horrible world, where all boys cheat eventually, this seemed like the last warm spot; just having him so close made me instantly wet. He had never touched me there before. All at once, his fingers were at the entrance of my pussy, against that silky wetness pooling there, but he instinctively pulled them away again, staring at me in horror.

He stood up, angrily, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“What the hell, Violet? What are you doing?”

I was horny. I was sad. I didn’t know what I was doing. I stared down at my knees and the mud on them. “Do you think I’m pretty?” I asked pathetically.

“What? Why do you ask that? Of course I think you’re pretty.”

“But do you think I’m
sexy
?” I asked, more pointedly. I mean, obviously at that point, kneeling down in front of him in some muddy grass, on a school night, I wasn’t the sexiest thing you could imagine, but still.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he said.

I know that I’m a pain in the ass. I know that I’m difficult to understand sometimes, and that I can be bossy, and that I get carried away. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t love him. Without thinking, I reached out to him and began to unbutton his pants, still on my knees and his crotch square to my face.

“David let’s do it. Right now. I’m so sorry. I love you. I
want
to…”

To my surprise, he was hard, and my hands worked quickly over the cotton of his boxer shorts to release his hot cock and a plume of his familiar scent, a scent that felt like my home, like the only remedy for the growing ache between my legs. I opened my mouth and tenderly took the warm tip between my lips, my tongue tasting the tiny bead of saltiness quivering there. A corresponding bead formed in my own mind:
I
had done this to him.
I
had turned him on…

“Violet this is crazy,” he was saying, and before I knew it he pulled away and was furiously zipping himself back up. All at once, that beautiful nakedness, that glorious bulk of his was gone and packed away in his pants again. Mouth hanging open, I stared up at him, hurt. I wanted to cry.

He was dusting the clumps of mud off his knees, trying to find something to say. He looked at me.

“I just don’t understand you,” he said finally. He extended his hand to help me up, but I refused it and stood up myself.

“I’ll just walk myself the rest of the way, thanks. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. I have some emails to write.” And I walked off.

Chapter 7

D,

Well, there is something you can do to help, honestly. Please don’t think I’m being too forward, but I always felt like I could open up to you, even though we’ve never really gotten the chance to get to know each other that well.

The truth is, Anthony and I broke up. I’m feeling pretty awful about everything. It’s been a bit of a nasty breakup, so it’s nice just to speak to someone who doesn’t really know him, you know? He was a great guy, but like I said, we were two very different people.

Can you keep a secret? It’s a little embarrassing. I tell everyone we grew apart and make up excuses, but the truth is that we broke up because he wouldn’t have sex with me. Ever. Maybe that sounds crazy, but it feels good just to share that with someone. He’s the kind who wants to wait till marriage. I couldn’t handle it. I guess you could say I’m just too passionate. Sex is very important to me. Hope you’re well.

Annie

PS: You never answered my question. Do you have a girlfriend?

So, the die is cast. The deed is done. I stared at this email for a long time, at each little pixel, pondering how such tiny things, when there were enough of them, could build up something so big.

I hit send.

But how much of this email was actually a lie, though? Maybe it
was
true that David and I were very different people. Maybe it was true that it felt good to finally just talk, anonymously, to someone about sex. And maybe …maybe the part about me being passionate wasn’t quite a lie, either. I looked at the tiny avatar of Annie, blond and generically good looking, oblivious to what was going on in her name.

I could be sexual, too. In fact, when I was ready, I fully intended to be a passionate, unbridled woman, to go at it every chance I got, and to fuck my heart out. Really. I slipped my hand into the band of my skirt again, finding faint traces of all the excitement that had happened earlier that day. Fingertips wet, I stroked smoothly over my clit, a dim swell of pleasure growing there, although I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen.

When a new window popped up, I nearly leapt out of my skin. An instant message. From
him
.

I was still logged in as Annie. A telling green dot appeared next to his picture, and next to mine. I mean, next to Annie’s…

David: Hello

The air was still. It was late, my homework was done, and the night sat around me, waiting. One hand still down my skirt, my other hovered over the keyboard. I hate to admit, but just seeing his face there sent a delicious shudder through me. I typed with an awkward left hand and hit enter.

Annie: Hey

His words appeared almost immediately on the screen:

David: Yes, I do

My mind jumped to earlier that day. Had he always looked so good? How had I never noticed how sexy his abs were before? I smiled to myself. That’s sounds like something that that slut Annie would think, not me.

Annie: You do what?

David: I do have a girlfriend.

I paused. My hands shook a little as they floated above the keys. I wrote with my left hand, which was uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. More unfamiliar, though, was writing with this new, awkward persona of mine.

That’s a shame!
I typed.

I waited. The cursor pulsed on the screen. My heart pulsed in my ears with roughly the same frequency.

David: Haha. She’s great. Although she sounds a lot like your boyfriend

Annie: You mean ex boyfriend

David: Sorry, ex boyfriend

Idly, my fingers began stroking again, and I teased myself absentmindedly, my panties long ago soaked.

Annie: How are they similar you think? A guy like you should have a girlfriend that treats him right

It seemed like an eternity before he replied. I knew him. I knew his bedroom. I knew where his laptop was, his chair, his posters. I pictured him right now, in the same sweatshirt I had left him in earlier that day, alone in his room, with that same head of gorgeous dusty hair… I felt a pang of something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. My actual fingers stayed where they were though, and I stroked until this wistful sensation disappeared and only the warmth of a certain orgasm hung there, waiting. Eventually, the reply appeared noiselessly onto the screen:

David: She does treat me right. She’s great. But she’s the same as him

Before I finished reading this, another line followed it.

David: I mean, she doesn’t believe in sex before marriage either

I stared at this, trying to decide what to make of such a technically true statement, but before I could type a reply, a third line appeared.

David: So now you know my secret and I know yours

Hm. A secret. I stroked.

Annie: Do you ever wish you could?

This time a whole, agonizing two minutes dragged by as I waited for an answer. This was bad. Although, so far he hadn’t “done” anything, right? So far, this was just a flirty girl who was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. A few things seemed clear:

One: I was definitely flirting with him,

Two: He didn’t tell me to
stop
flirting with him,

Three: I kind of liked it.

This last point seemed the most troublesome. It might sound stupid, but David and I had never really
flirted
with each other before. He wrote me a poem, he smiled at me, and then we were boyfriend-and-girlfriend, and that was that. The first time we kissed, we sat under the peach tree in his mother’s garden and he turned to me and blushed and said, “I think we should kiss now” and so we did. No flirting. No instant messaging.

The screen changed again and caught my eye.

David: Of course. All the time.

Huh. Of course, this was a totally normal and honest answer. And I
was
kind of dragging it out of him. Something about how simply he put it here, though, made it look different. He was just a boy. Who wanted to have sex. I guess that wasn’t so outrageous.

I want to tell you another secret
I typed slowly, as though I was a little afraid of what would happen when I reached the end of the sentence.

David: Tell me

Well that was quick. My fingers sat quiet on the keys. I had stroked myself to the sweet, sweet brink of an orgasm, and was holding myself there, my skirt concealing my hand’s furtive movements.