“What’s that?” I ask. “Did you say I have a pretty cock?”
I grin, but she’s not having it. She cocks her head to one side, frowns, then puts a hand firmly on my chest and pushes me out of her way.
I could have stopped her, of course; she doesn’t have the strength to move me, but I don’t want to be an asshole – she clearly already thinks I am one.
But that’s okay. I’ll change her mind.
4
Emma
“What did he say to you!?” Martha asks as she barges into our dorm room.
“Who?”
“Who?” she scoffs. “Denzel Washington! Jay Moore, bitch!”
I shake my head. I’m still shaken up from our encounter – and from the entire session.
“Nothing really…”
I don’t even know what else to say honestly. I can’t even process what just happened. There’s no way he was actually hitting on me.
“Bullshit, nothing!” she replies. “Scoot over.”
I do and she joins me on my bed. I’m feeling so uncomfortable, and my panties are soaked. This is not something I am used to, and I don’t know how to handle it.
“Spill it,” she says firmly.
“He – he asked me what my name was,” I reply.
“And?”
“And I told him.” I shrug.
“And what else?”
I think back to our encounter…the way his eyes looked down at me when I finally found the courage to meet them. I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach.
“He asked me if I thought his cock was pretty.”
Martha explodes with laughter and falls down on top of me. I don’t know whether to join in laughing or groan, so I do a weird combination of both until she gets off me. She looks at me like a proud parent, and I throw my hands up in exasperation.
“What, Martha?” I sigh. “Why are you looking at me like that!?”
“Oh, I’m just so fucking jealous,” she replies.
“Sure,” I say dismissively. “You have an amazing boyfriend.”
“Not that,” she says.
“What then?”
“I’m jealous that I didn’t get to lose my virginity to Jay Moore.”
“Lose my virginity?!” I gasp, getting to my feet. I’m feeling flushed and slide out of my shirt and into a loose flannel. “Who said anything about losing my virginity to Jay Moore?”
Martha’s giving me that I-know-better-than-you look that always makes me squirm, so I turn around and look out the window at the grass where a couple of guys are walking one of those ratchet tightropes.