4
David
Iquit high school once I found out I failed the eleventh grade. Again. What’s the point of going when you aren’t intelligent enough to pass? Unlike Emily—who finished school with honors—I’m not smart enough. I don’t have the willpower to study like she did. I don’t want to be left behind as she moves on with her life, and I don’t like the idea of being eighteen in a sea of seventeen-year-olds.
Not only did I fail out of school, it’s apparent that my father's worst attributes are deeply ingrained in me. They wait with growing impatience to rear their ugly heads.
Tonight, I’m at a party. I see a girl who reminds me of Em in some ways. She’s short and not exactly thin. Her thighs and hips are thick, and she has a nice, full ass. When did I become such an ass man?
But something about her is different, and it intrigues me. She never tugs at her clothing like Em does. She wears her dress with confidence, sways her hips to the music, and has a cup of hard liquor in her hand. I throw back the rest of my rum and make my way to her.
“Pretty good song, huh?” I ask.
Her gaze jumps from me to her friend, then back to me again.
“I don't mean to be rude, but why are you talking to me?” She gestures toward the stereotypical “hot” girls standing around us, talking to their friends. I smirk and hold out my hand.
“I thought you looked lonely. I’m David, by the way,” I say, as if stating my name is all I need to prove my worth. My smile can charm the pants off any woman in here.
So why am I wasting my time on this girl, whose attitude has become a boner-killer?
After a brief internal struggle, I take a step behind her and press myself against her. I anticipate a slap—not an uncommon occurrence—but instead, she turns to look back at me with flirty eyes.
“I’m not lonely, but I don’t mind the company, either. I’m Elisa.”
Her lips are full, like Em’s. Her hips move with mine and we grind rhythmically to the music. I am hard as a rock.
Some of the other girls whisper to each other and glare at us. It’s obvious that they are as confused as I am. Why did I pick this girl over them? All I can do is shrug.
Elisa can sense the eyes on her, and she tenses with discomfort, her confidence buried beneath embarrassment.
“I knew this was a fucking joke! Why else would someone that looks like you try to dance with someone like me?” She slams her drink down on the table. The liquid sloshes and spills over the sides and onto the wood beneath it. “You can go fuck yourself, David.”
She says my name with such venom on her lips that it throws me for a moment. I really didn't have any ill intentions towards her, aside from just wanting to try and fuck her. Shouldn't girls take that as a compliment?
She storms away.
The night goes on and I get drunk. A cigarette dangles from my loose lips. I try to focus on the skin and sweat of the girls around me now, but I find myself wondering where Elisa has gone.
I force my focus back to the girl I’m dancing with. She’s a tall blonde. When she leans in to whisper something in my ear, her breath is hot on my neck.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” she asks.
Her hips are bony, and my hands grasp around her waist with ease as she presses herself against me. It isn’t quite the same feeling as when I wrapped my hands around Elisa's full waist.
This blonde is the type of girl I need to get with. She’s the type I am expected to get with. It would ruin my reputation if others found out I actually prefer the feel of a thicker girl. In all fairness, I haven't had sex with anyone yet, so I can only really say what my dick seems to prefer. And that appears to be the presence of more flesh to devour.
I nod to the blonde, though I’m not even sure of her name. She grabs my hand and leads me upstairs. The carpet on the steps cushions her heels, and her hips sway with exaggeration in front of me. She leads me to a bedroom and closes the door. She kisses me sloppily as she slips off her heels. I am hard, but my mind is elsewhere, following the scent of Elisa.
“I’m Amy,” she whispers against my lips.
“David.”
“I know who you are,” she smirks before trying to wiggle out of her dress. She gives up and lifts the skirt instead, grasping her panties and pulling them down her thighs. They slide down without a struggle. She has no fat for them to get hung up on. When she leans down to take them off, she puts a hand up to her mouth and vomits a brown mixture onto the carpet beside my foot.
“Rum, I see.”
“I’m so sorry!” She heaves again and runs out of the room, abandoning her heels and panties in her haste.
There’s nothing quite like a vomiting drunk chick to change your boner’s mind. I return downstairs and glimpse the blue and black of Elisa’s dress outside on the patio. I squeeze through a blanket of bodies in the living room as I struggle to reach the door to the back porch. As I open the patio door, I check to see if anyone has noticed me go out to talk to her. I curse at myself. What is wrong with me?
The sound of the closing door draws her attention. Her makeup is smeared, as if she's been crying. My heart sinks.
The porch light shines against the night and attracts moths that hit the glass with discernible pings. They crash their bodies into the glass repeatedly; their desire to reach the light outweighs the pain.
Her dark hair drapes her shoulders in loose ringlets. Her bangs are pulled back in a pinup style against her face. Striking blue eyes stand out against her pale complexion and dark hair. Rose red lipstick traces her full lips. She’s beautiful, and in many ways, more so than Amy. I sit beside her.
“Listen—,” I start, but she interrupts me.
“First, I'm sorry for accusing you of making fun of me. It's such a common thing for girls like me. It’s kind of hard to believe someone might actually be interested. Sometimes I get defensive, and for that, I apologize.”
Her nervous fingers trace the fabric of her dress, and I feel like I personally took a shit on her confidence. I imagine Emily out here, crying and pulling at her clothing. All because of some asshole. I would have killed a guy for causing her to shed tears this way. I want to make it up to Elisa.
“Would you like to go for a drive?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush, and she ponders for a moment before standing up and managing a smile. She adjusts her dress by rubbing her hands down her thighs. She looks at her phone and slips it into her bra.
“Why not? Let's go.”
Em let me borrow her dad's pickup truck for the evening. I lead Elisa to it and open the passenger door for her, as if I were a perfect gentleman. I take note of how her dress rides up her thighs as she lifts herself into the passenger seat.
We drive to one of the few rivers in the area where the shore is accessible by vehicle. The huge moon reflects off the water in front of us. I turn off the ignition. The sound of insects and rustling leaves fills the silence around us.
“I know it doesn’t look like it, but the bed of this truck is actually quite nice,” I say with a coy smile.
I reach behind my seat, grab a blanket Em and I used to use, and hop out of the truck. The leaves on the trees dance as I listen to their eerie whispers. I drape the blanket over the cold metal of the truck bed and hoist myself up. Elisa appears in front of me. I reach my hand out to her, but she shakes her head, kicks off her heels, and climbs up next to me.
The contrast of her skin and hair in the moonlight leaves me speechless. I try to adjust my jeans without drawing her attention. The excitement of what might finally be happening is becoming unbearable.
It's not that I didn't have opportunities to lose my V card before tonight, but women fucking terrify me. I get where I am now, but then things start to go south. And not in a fun way. I’m too intimidated by those sinfully beautiful girls I surround myself with. I'm afraid of not being good enough—or that they’ll be able to tell I'm a virgin—so I tactfully avoid doing the deed. Most nights, I’m too drunk to perform anyway—cock so limp it hurts their feelings. No man has ever been soft around them. The disappointment is apparent on their faces. The disappointment that is David Norstar.
Elisa is a non-threatening stepping stone, and I need this. I need to be what everyone thinks I am. The god. David fucking Norstar.
I pull out a bowl and pack it with the good stuff. I smirk at Elisa.
“Do you wanna smoke?”
She nods cautiously. I bring the bowl up to my mouth with one hand and light it with the other. The flame of the lighter flickers close to my nose, and I can feel its heat. I love to breathe the demon into my lungs. He will claw back up my throat until he bellows from my mouth in the form of blackened smoke. I take a deep hit before handing it over to her. She inhales with her lips around the mouthpiece, leaving a trace of ruby colored lipstick behind. We finish the bowl between us, lean back, and listen to the waves as they wash over the rocky shore in front of us.
It’s obvious that I haven't done this before. I’m too afraid to make a move on her. She clears her throat.
“So, did I do something to turn you off?” she asks.
“What? No, not at all... I just... Can I be honest?”
“Of course.”