Charlotte: Prove it
I took my burrito out of the microwave and carried it over to the little table in my room. I nibbled at it slowly, savoring the shredded chicken and creamy cheese sauce inside, but there was no response from Jayce. I wondered if I’d pushed it too far, or if I should have given him a shot of my cleavage first.
Then the text message arrived.
And it washot.
The photo showed Jayce’s bare abs at the top and his junk in the center of the frame. His tight grey boxers hugged his muscular thighs, and showed the scintillating outline of the bulge of his cock. I could make out every detail underneath the soft, grey cotton: the ridge of his crown, the thickness of the shaft. It ran diagonally toward his left thigh, not quite the girth of a roll of cookie dough, but thicker than a tube of toothpaste.
Holy crap.
I realized I was holding my breath, so I let it out slowly. My heart pounded and I was out of breath like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster.
Jayce: How’s that, Peaches?
I put my burrito down and considered what to send back. I started to respond that the photo didn’t prove whether or not he had tattoos on his junk, but then I deleted it and typed something else instead.
Charlotte: This photo is satisfactory.
Jayce: Satisfactory?
Jayce: It’s just SATISFACTORY?
Charlotte: It’s a solid C+. Passing grade.
Charlotte: I accept extra credit, though ;-)
Jayce: All right, Peaches. Time to show me yours.
I took my time finishing my burrito while contemplating what to send him. Then I stripped my jeans and panties, swapping them for a pair of tight boy shorts. Turquoise with little white ocean waves on them, which I’d bought at a surf shop in the Outer Banks. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror examining and adjusting myself, pulling the boy shorts up into the crack of my butt, showing off all of my curves.
I snapped a dozen photos of my ass, then spent another ten minutes choosing which one to send Jayce.
My body tingled with excitement the moment I hit send. I wasn’t the kind of girl who sent scandalous photos to guys I barely knew. Even a reasonably innocent photo without any nudity made me feel like I was being bad.
But being bad felt sogoodright now.
Jayce didn’t respond at first. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. With each passing minute I grew more self-conscious about the photograph. Had I gone too far? Was he waiting for more? Or did he not like what he saw?
Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Charlotte: I guess you’re not a butt guy, huh?
Jayce: Sorry, Peaches. That ass is so fine I think I went into a coma for a few minutes
Jayce: I chose the right nickname for you after all. That ass is juicy.
I grinned to myself the rest of the night.
The next day was like the previous one, where we both pretended like nothing had happened. But the way he called mePeachesheld a little extra meaning.
Between the monotonous community service work, the microwave burritos, and the increasingly scandalous text messages with Jayce, I was settling into a nice groove during my time in Eastland.
Until Tuesday.
That’s when Scott called.
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