Take Me With You(37)

When the sky begins to swirl with shades of blush and umber, I decide I've played this game long enough and hope to make a quick exit. By the time I get downstairs and peek out into the backyard, it's clear everyone is trashed. Tiki torches are lit. Pot and cigarette smoke wafts in the breeze. The off duty cops always seem to lose their sense of smell at these shindigs. And these suburban folk sure like to get loose on the weekends. I debate whether I should risk slipping out without saying goodbye.

“Saaaaam!” Milly slurs. I roll my eyes before turning to face her with a plastic smile, and am surprised to see her arm wrapped around Scooter. Her legs wobble on top of her high heeled clogs. I wonder if he's fucked her already.

“Hey, where the hell have you been?” he asks playfully. “I was just about to take her home. She's had a little too much. Why don't you escort her for me?” He winks out of her line of vision.

“I-I-I was j-j-just leaving.”

“Oh come on! Take me!” she says, throwing herself into my arms. “Your brother told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Scoot says again, shooting me with a finger pistol and backing out before I can protest.

She's sloppy drunk, and a hint of her nipple is hanging out of her top. She disgusts me. Scoot thinks he's throwing me an easy lay, but I don't want these scraps. She's just delaying the delicacy I have back at the ranch.

Now I'm stuck with her and I have to play the whole gentleman thing, so I walk her across the street.

“Hey, I want to show you something,” she says, playfully pulling me to the side of the house, dark with shadows from the half-set sun. She stops and there is nothing in particular to show me, in fact we are in total privacy with most of the neighborhood being at my brother's.

She pushes me up against the house and presses her weight against me. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a joint, and lights it.

“Here, have some,” she whispers mischievously.

I take it from her, suck in some, but don’t inhale. I don’t want a foggy mind right now.

“Shot gun me,” she laughs, digging her body against mine.

I shrug, taking another puff and blowing the smoke at her. She purses her lips and sucks it in, coming closer, closer, until her lips touch mine. She pulls back and smirks. “You're really cute. Your eyes, I saw them from across the street,” she giggles. She runs her hands up my right arm and the side of my face. She touches me like she has the right. I clench my fist, stopping the hand from grabbing her throat. “I like the scars. It makes you look tough. What happened? Your brother said it was an accident, but he didn't tell me what,” she asks as she unbuckles my belt.

What happened is none of her fucking business and my scars are not a novelty.

My dick is hard, but that's because it's still waiting to complete what I started with Vesp this morning and the slightest contact gets it at attention.

She kisses my neck. “You know, Scoot told me about your stuttering. How you get nervous around women and it's so bad it almost makes you mute. I don't understand it, you're gorgeous. Who cares about what you have to say? Anyway, I think it's kinda cute how you get all tongue-tied…”

She's thinks this is all a fucking joke. My speech impediment. My scars. As if those appeared out of nowhere. As if my scars don't come with memories of intense agony. Or a lifetime of never being taken seriously because the complex thoughts in my mind are butchered fragments by the time they reach my lips. Now both of my hands are balled and trembling, the ember on the end of the joint singeing the palm of my hand before it goes out. My breathing deepens as she lazily plops her body against mine. She smells of sweat-tainted perfume, beer, and cigarettes.

“You know, I don't care,” she says in her best messy seductive voice, as she runs a finger along the rough skin on my shoulder. “You're still sexy,” she adds, yanking down my pants. “Oh wow!” she starts laughing. Laughing at my cock.

I grip her hair at the roots and ask “What the fuck is so funny?” The beast is out. It shouldn't be. Not here. Not so close to Scoot's house.

Milly's body goes rigid against my pull. Her lazy breathing stops suddenly.

“Nothing,” she answers soberly. “I mean it's really nice. I was shocked at ya know, its girth,” she says, like a kid trying to get herself out of trouble.

“You think this is all funny? Huh? You want to tell all your southern society friends about how you sucked off a twenty-something stutterer who looks like he was dragged along the back of a truck?”

“I—uh—I didn't…”

“Then do it,” I say, pushing her down to her knees and shoving myself in her mouth. Let's see if she can laugh now.

At first she resists, but it's not much. I've had fighters. No, she relaxes and starts running her mouth along my shaft. It's a mouth and it feels good, but I don't want this. I planned on the perfect tableau. I have a better mouth and pussy waiting. A perfect one. Clear-eyed, not drunk and sloppy. Modest, not this tramp who expects every man to fawn over her sexuality. Someone who is subtle and nuanced, not this fucking human equivalent of a blow horn.

“Get the fuck off of me,” I say, pushing her to the ground.

“What?” she asks, wiping her saliva off her chin. I'm a little surprised she's mounting a resistance.