Page 65 of People Like Us

I usually preferred to just blow him—it didn’t take as long, and was less of a clean up for me in the long run. But I hadn’t been able to get August’s words out of my head for the past few weeks: “You deserve to come”.

So, I straddled Andy, the chilly air nipping at my exposed thighs, and tried my best to come the way I had with August. Andy’s hands—big and callused from who knows what labor—dug into the bones jutting at my sides, pinning me harshly against him. He rolled his hips forward, thrusting upward in rough, staccato jolts that rattled my spine. Each motion produced a guttural grunt from him that echoed through the night air reaching out for that steeple that looked out in judgement over all of Woodland and the sinners that inhabited it.

“Slow down,” I whispered, pressing my palms flat against his chest to steady myself.

He eased back, just barely, rocking in shorter, faster pumps. “Feels too good,” he muttered, voice thick with need. “I’m so close.”

I laid my cheek against the back of his shoulder, inhaling the salt on his skin through his tshirt. “I’m not there yet,” I panted. My breath came in ragged bursts, my insides churning from the relentless motion—far from erotic, more like my organs were being stabbed at from the inside.

Andy’s thrusts stuttered, then accelerated again. “Come with me,” he murmured, voice rough.

“Andy, it’s too much,” I gasped as his hand dug harder into my hip. I felt the pressing line of bruises forming under his grip. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second, then shuddered beneath me in a long, heaving release.

I knew he’d come, and I didn’t bother to plaster a satisfied grin on my face as I finally looked up. But instead of immediately finding Andy, my eyes landed on a dark silhouette amongst the tree line just a few feet away, its outline highlighted by silver moonlight. A tall figure, leaning over, as if heaving, against a pine.

My heart skipped before picking up speed. My grip on Andy’s shoulders tightened, and I whispered his name, but he didn’t move—too lost in his own flood of dopamine to realize we were about to star in our own horror film.

As the figure moved, a lazy stumble forward, I lurched, nearly pushing Andy back, and grasped a large moss covered rock we moved to weigh down the blanket, and chucked it toward the figure as I shouted, “Fuck off, perv!”

Andy clung to me as he spun to see what I was yelling at. The figure let out a wounded sound, and then promptly ran further into the darkness of the trees.

“What the fuck are you yelling for?” Andy hissed at me.

My eyes met his, wide with anger. “There was somebody standing there! They were watching us!”

Andy huffed, “Well who could blame them?” He ran his hands further up my sides, but I pushed them down before he could reach my chest.

I smacked his shoulder. “Andy, I’m serious! I saw someone standing there.”

He nodded, his grin dropping as he looked over his shoulder again. “It was probably just a deer. You know they like to eat the corn. Besides, it’s gone now. You probably broke its leg with a pitch like that,” he said, his fingers coming up to squeeze my bicep.

I rolled my eyes, though I let out a sigh. It looked like a person leaning against the tree, but maybe it had just been a four legged creature. It hadn’t yelled, or cursed back, just let out a soft oof and fled.

When I rolled off Andy, his grin spread across his face again like dawn breaking over darkened hills. “Did you come?” he asked, eyes bright with triumph.

My voice cut through the thick air without any attempt to soften the edge. “No.”

“Are you about to start your period?” His tone was laced with so much genuine concern that for a moment I almost hated myself for not faking it.

“No, Andy.” I slid sideways, reaching into my bag for my pack of wet wipes. I tore one away and handed it to him, then used another on myself, the cool dampness a relief against my overheated skin.

He leaned forward, peeled off the condom, tied it in a tight knot, and with a flick, he sent it soaring into the shadowed treeline.

I frowned. He glanced at me, surprised. “I wish you wouldn’t litter.”

He laughed, a brilliant, playful sound. “You want me to leave it in the truck for my dad to find? Not sure which he’d do first—kill me, or call your dad so they could organize our murders together.”

I bent down, feeling the mud slicked blanket beneath me, and fished my underwear and pantyhose from the ground. As I tugged them back on, he nudged my arm with an easy grin. “Hey so what’s up with the misfit bringing you lunch?”

I met his teasing eyes with a glare. “Please stop calling him that.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “I don’t know why you’re standing up for him. He’s pretty arrogant for someone who looks like he eats stale crackers for dinner. Did you see the look he gave me? He’s lucky he’s got all his teeth.”

I pinched his arm so hard he let out a pathetic yelp. “Not everyone has to bow down to you just because you came out of the womb built like a linebacker, Andy. When did you get so condescending?”

He stared at me, as if trying to map my anger and find the moment he went wrong. His confusion only fueled my frustration. I rose, my knees creaking from the strain of rocking back and forth for so long.

Andy stood too, and pulled the blanket up with him. We walked in silence back to his truck. I would’ve stomped several feet ahead of him any other night, but I was still on edge from the pervy deer that I now felt horrible for injuring, so I kept pace with him until we reached the parking lot.