Trapper and Emmeline (20 page)

I don’t know who it was, but I wil always be grateful to them. Someone took mercy on me and surreptitiously eased a pair of fingers into my pussy. They found it wet, and getting wetter. The fingers left. I moved my ass minutely toward where the finger was, to show I wanted more. I was rewarded with the thumb, at an odd angle. Beggars can’t be choosers, I decided, and relaxed into the sensation. But then the thumb was gone, too.

Frustrating!

I accepted another beer, my fourth that night, and chugged it. If I was experiencing the female equivalent of blue-bal s, let me just say to al the men in my past, I’m sorry!

Suddenly the fingers and thumb were back, pincher style. The thumb slid into my anus, wetted by my slick pussy juice.

The fingers slid into my vagina. They squeezed together and I almost cried out. Luckily it was during a score in the footbal game and nobody noticed me. My secret admirer got the message and ramped his movements down.

For me, the last ten minutes of the game were a lethargic, surging massage. I pretended to be passed out, and luxuriated in what the fingers were doing to me. This wasn’t Bil y or Thor. This was an older man who knew how to take things slow. I felt myself pinched and spread, cupped and squeezed, by the tireless hand between my legs.

Nobody could see a thing, because the mysterious hand was sliding into my ass from behind. Encouraged and reckless, I reached over my head for Bil y’s hand, found it, and curled it under my chest. It looked like I was hugging it for warmth. But my hands held his hand against my tit, and my nipple was between his thumb and forefinger. He dialed it mercilessly while my other nipple stood stiffly in the air like an open plea for attention.

I pressed back on the mysterious hand in my crotch, needing more pressure, and I got it. These were construction workers, after al . Whatever else they are, they are strong. A girl could get picked up, shaken out, and squeezed like a cum rag with men that strong.

I recognized that thought. I only get that obscene in my mind when I’m on the verge.

I let the sensations bloom through my body like an endless self-planting flower. They built like a fireworks show. When I hit orgasm, it was long and powerful. I thought I was having a brain blockage. My vision zoomed around, and I saw the TV

change commercials three times. Long fucking orgasm! Al without me moving, or moaning, or even breathing heavily except to yawn at the end.

“I got an idea!” Dad suddenly cried. “Emmeline’s first drunk night! It’s the funniest! Where’s my camera!”

I groaned, “Daddy!”

Of course it wasn’t my first drunk night, but I had a reputation to uphold.

By this point I had learned enough about myself to know I liked cameras. The flash took me by surprise, though, and I flushed with pleasure. The fingers were stil in my vagina and my ass. My hidden friend felt my excitement, and kept them inside me for the next pictures.

So that is how I came into possession of a series of photographs of myself, naked, spread out under the hands of four rough-looking construction workers. In the pictures, my mouth is open and wet. There is an obvious, dark blush across the tops of my breasts and up my neck because I had just come. My legs are parted slightly, and if you look closely you can see a hint of the hand in my snatch.

“Sending these to everybody,” Dad muttered. “Emailed!”

“Wait, what?” I sat up. “My father sent naked pictures of me to people?”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “So what? It’s cute! My employees show me pictures of
their
kids al the time.”

“Those kids are five! They’re not in col ege.”

Petro pinched my ass warningly and I quieted down.

“Where did you send them?”

“Just the bunch of us. Give me a little credit!” Dad picked up an armful of empty bottles, and left the room.

“Shit, you guys,” I said. “I think I might be going insane.”

“Can we show our friends these pictures?” Bil y had them up on his phone already. “They wil never believe me.”

I shrugged hopelessly. Because apparently, whenever I get naked, the only thing men think about is taking pictures and putting them online for their friends to see. I knew, one way or another, these pictures would seep into the world. They would end up just like the earlier pictures of my new boobs, my sexy il egal Facebook pictures, my fingered-on-the-subway videos, and my naked pretend-sleeping video. I was rapidly becoming a media sensation. I didn’t hate the idea, I just felt a little out of control.

“Tyler,” Emmeline told me, “I wish you had been there.”

I listened to Emmeline’s tired, satisfied voice on the phone that same night. She described the whole adventure with her father’s friends, in great detail, as my world slowly melted out from under me.

“So now you know about my Saturday. Enjoy those pictures I emailed—my fucking
Dad
took them.”

“Wow, just, wow. These are…” I trailed off.

I knew she wanted to hear what I thought about the pictures, but it seemed a little like describing the moon to Neil Armstrong. She had been there. I only had the second-hand version. The sloppy seconds—no, not even that, because I was in a different borough altogether. I had three dark blurry pictures of my gorgeous girlfriend, spread out on the laps of four scary looking guys.

She was lying on her back, but her hips were twisted around. One knee crossed the other, which obscured her crotch but also opening her ass to the two guys behind her. Her back was flat on—Bil y’s, I supposed—knee, and he was staring down at her epic breasts, which were pointed right back at him. Her head was to the side, eyes glassy, and mouth open so she looked like she was panting. I couldn’t see any details of Thor’s reputedly enormous package, but her head was against
something
that was big and bulging. If that huge lap-pil ow fil ing his jeans was actual y his cock, how distracting it must have been for both of them when she rested her cheek on it! The man himself was a crude, muscular, tattooed Viking, a sensitive guy’s nightmare. She had not mentioned that he was shirtless.

The only man who looked quiet and unrapey, ironical y enough, was the famous Stace. He held her feet in his hand.

He looked satisfied, reasonably so. And he was strikingly handsome. I felt something twist in my stomach.

I could also see the arm that terminated in Emmeline’s crotch, but I couldn’t tel whose it was in the tight tangle of men and naked girl.

“What a total y fucked up Saturday.”

“Very fucked up,” I agreed.

That whore.

Week 6: Leaving Emmeline

I had a beautiful, funny, loving girlfriend, and for a few weeks I was on top of the world. For a few weeks I felt I deserved someone like her. We were just starting a few dirty games, some fun teasing. She started wearing sexy clothes for me, and flirting with men.

And then she fucks a construction worker behind my back.

A part of me knew I shouldn’t be angry. We were playing a game where the boundaries were nebulous. What was right and wrong slid around from one day to the next. A girl who teases strangers and passing acquaintances, just to turn them on, is not a girl who is going to have a precise sense of morality. It would be easy, for instance, to accidental y fuck her Dad’s friend after ten minutes of chitchat. (It was kil ing me to think these thoughts. I wanted them to stop. I wanted to not be angry anymore.)

A girl like that was bound to go off the reservation at some point. She would go out of bounds, and she wouldn’t know it. She would merely fol ow where the next orgasm took her.
But Trapper, you like when Emmeline is slutty.
I didn’t want to listen to that half of myself. I wanted to listen to the half that was angry and hurt.

Because after six weeks of being careful with our feelings, and constantly communicating our trust, and frequently checking in with each other—she stil managed to fuck it al up. Just by being a horny slut. By bare-backing an old guy she cal ed
Uncle Stace.

On her most insecure days, Emmeline could actual y get vicious if I checked out another woman. If I ever slept with another girl, I had no doubt she would stab me in my sleep. Maybe she
was
her scary-sounding mother. I just thought al Greeks were insane. I didn’t dwel on that side of her because I didn’t need to—it appeared only very rarely, and also,
I
didn’t fucking betray her.

Worst of al , I felt like I had taken a sweet, gorgeous young woman, and made her into a whore. It was my fault. Al my fault. I had made Emmeline into a gun, put her to my temple, and pul ed the trigger.

Emmeline was stil talking.

“I don’t know if I can take another afternoon like that. Can we please just fuck with strangers from now on? Strangers are simple and fun, and there’s no baggage. One afternoon with my Dad’s friends, and my whole worldview was torn to shit. I’m stil processing that information about my mom. I don’t want my sex life mixed up with my personal life.”

“It’s al about what you want,” I said.

“Except for those four guys. They wil always be close to me. Is that okay, Trapper? They’re like war buddies now. I would feel strange saying no to anything they wanted.”

I looked at her picture again. They were not hover-handing her. Their palms were flat on her body—on her stomach, her neck, her hip, her thighs. Their forearms rested on her body too, across her breasts, just above her crotch. She was in complete, comprehensive contact with al of those men. Skin to skin. If she rol ed toward them—and I was sure she had at some point—al the interesting parts of her body would be pressed against them. Her face would be against Thor’s shirtless torso, her lips against the happy trail leading from his bel y button to his dick.

Of
course
she would feel strange saying no to them. The picture showed it al . Their hands cried ownership over her, her posture insinuated that she was their possession. They al looked satisfied with the arrangement.

“Sounds like you have some awesome fuck-buddies now.”

“Naw, they’re just—” Something about my tone final y alerted her. “Okay, so it’s happening?”

“What do you mean, Emmeline?”

“You’re not talking. Usual y, I wouldn’t be able to shut you up. You would be al over this. We’re partners, remember?”

“So you fucked this guy for
us?
Because al I’m seeing are Daddy issues, Mommy issues, and a bad Prom experience.”

She didn’t answer.

“You fucked him without talking to me first. Knowing it would kil me.”

She was quiet a moment longer.

Then: “Did we final y find a line not to cross?” She didn’t sound apologetic, just quiet. “Look, I’m exhausted and tipsy. I have to think about what I did, because it sounds like I made you angry. I promise I’l cal tomorrow morning and we can talk. I have a lot more dirty details if you want to hear them.”

“Just…” I didn’t have anything else. “Goodnight.”

“I love you, Trapper.”

I had never heard her say it before. Why now?
To distract me.

I hung up and stared at the phone.

We didn’t talk on Sunday. She cal ed ten times that morning, but I never got to the phone on time.

So she broke down and wrote an email.

I thought I was at least safe with Thor, because he can’t work a computer. I was ever wrong!!!!! I learned this morning that he paid Billy to make printouts for him at a drug store. He works the Sunday shift, and he pinned a picture to the bulletin board at work! At Dad’s construction site!!!! I’m up there with all the naked calendar girls.

I know Thor doesn’t know better. To him it’s just a fun picture. That’s fine.

But seriously, what the fuck? Why does every man want to fucking put pictures of me everywhere? What is wrong with people?

I’m going to call Stace and see what’s happening. Depending on how Dad takes it, I might be a dead duck. Tell my professors I enjoyed their classes.

Of course she would turn right to Stace.

Later that afternoon, she wrote again.