Ghosted

It takes you about that long to drive there. She’s sitting on top of a picnic table when you arrive, staring out at the water, the park edging the bank of the Hudson River. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen her out of her school uniform, so used to the knee-length skirts with the thick tights.

She’s wearing pajama pants tonight.

It’s dark where she’s sitting, the glow of the moonlight surrounding her. You approach, your hands hidden behind your back. “I have a surprise.”

“Is it the answers to Monday’s Math test? Because if so, you’re going to at least get to third base for that.”

You laugh, standing in front of her. “Which base is third base?”

“Pretty sure it’s dry humping.”

“Shame,” you say. “Could use a good dry hump, but no, that’s not it. Although, you could always copy my answers. Just mark a few wrong on purpose, since they might get suspicious if you get a perfect score.”

“Right, since you never miss any.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “So if it’s not the answers, what is it?”

You pull your hands out from behind your back. It’s a comic book, tucked in a plastic sleeve. Her expression changes as she takes it.

Breezeo: Ghosted

Issue #5 of 5

“Is this…? Oh my god, is this what it says it is?”

“The last issue of Breezeo.”

“But how?” Her eyes meet yours. “This isn’t even out yet!”

“Ah, well, I knew a person who knew a person who knew a person,” you say. “You know how it is. Pay enough money and you can get anything.”

“You must’ve really hated waiting,” she says. “Oh my god, Jonathan. I seriously can’t believe this. Is it good? Have you read it?”

“No, I didn’t read it. I got it for you. Figured you might let me borrow it later, if I'm good to you.”

“This is for me?” she asks, holding it against her chest. “Like, for real, it’s mine?”

“Yes,” you say. “It’s yours.”

As soon as you confirm that, she flings herself at you, a full-blown flying leap right off of the picnic table, into your arms. You don’t expect it, and she nearly tackles you to the ground. You manage to stay on your feet as she wraps herself around you, legs around your waist, arms around your neck.

She kisses you.

You kiss her back as you take a few steps over to set her down on the edge of the picnic table, but she doesn’t let go of you. If anything, she’s more encouraged. She drops the comic onto the table and runs her fingers through your hair as she grinds against you.

You groan, pressing into her. You’re so hard she can feel it. “Guess I hit third, after all.”

“That? You knocked that one right out of the park.”

You laugh against her lips, still kissing her. “Yeah? You already giving me a home run?”

“It’s worth it,” she whispers. “You can slide home anytime you want. It’s all yours.”

The baseball metaphors, yeah, they’re stupid, but the meaning behind them gets you worked up. She’s giving you the green light to go all the way, and well, what hormone-driven teenage boy is going to say no to that invitation?

Your hand slips down the front of her pants, and she gasps, throwing her head back. Your mouth goes to her neck as you drive her wild with your fingertips, asking, “How do you like it?”

She stammers. “I, uh… I don’t know…”

“You want it just like this?” you ask, whispering in her ear as she grinds against you, making her own friction, nearly getting herself off. You help her, rubbing harder where she needs it. “I could bend you over the table, hit it from behind. Or we could go to my car, if you want, maybe have you ride me in the passenger seat. Tell me how to make you feel good.”

You’re a dirty talker. It makes her blush.

“I don’t know,” she says again. “I, uh… I haven’t ever…”

“You mean you’ve never…?”

She shakes her head.

“Seriously? This is your first time?”

That catches you off guard. You pause what you’re doing. You didn’t realize she was a virgin.

She groans, shifting her hips. “Oh god, don’t stop… please…”

You start rubbing again. She’s close, so close it would be cruel to stop. Just a few more seconds before she gasps, an orgasm sweeping through her. You don’t stop until she relaxes again, but once you try to pull away, she won’t let you.

“I want to,” she says. “I know you’ve done this before, and I haven’t, but I want to… with you.”

“Your first time can’t be out here,” you say. “It can’t be bent over a damn picnic table.”

“The car, then.”

“It’s not going to be that, either,” you say. “Not with me. It needs to be in a bed. Nobody’s first time should be a ten minute quickie in a park.”