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Chapter 6: Real People
I walked into the school and found it surreal to be walking through a bunch of empty halls during summer that I had been exposed to every day during the school year. The school at summer was just a skeleton, a dormant beast. I made it to the office to find the lone lady sitting at the secretary’s desk. She looked up at me when I stepped in. She seemed excited to have something to do.
“Hello!” she said warmly, “How can I help you?”
—[]—
The office only took ten minutes. I handed over my ID, signed something, got a folder with the official paper inside, and walked back out into the empty hallway feeling like none of it had even registered.
The athletic wing was on the far side of the building, past the gym, down a hall that still smelled like rubber and floor wax even in the dead of summer. I heard voices before I saw anyone, a small group breaking up after some even, maybe a practice. Guys were heading toward the locker room in twos and threes.
Caden’s muscular form, even compared to his teammates, was at the back of the group, peeling his shirt off as he walked, using it to wipe his face.
He saw me before I had a chance to decide whether to let him see me.
He stopped walking. The guys around him kept moving, calling something back at him that he didn't answer, and then it was just him standing there in the hallway, shirtless, his chest and stomach shining with sweat, his hair pushed up to be slightly “spiky”, damp at the front.
"You parked next to my car," he said.
"Needed my transcript," I said, gesturing lightly with the envelope in my hand.
"Sure you did." He looked at me for a second, and whatever softness had been in his face that morning at my house was gone now, replaced by his default assertiveness, maybe even a little aggression. "But you could've parked anywhere else in that whole lot."
I didn't say anything.
He looked down the hall behind him, then back at me.
"Come on," he said, and started walking, not toward the locker room, the other direction, toward the old wing where nobody went in the summer.
I followed him.
—[]—
The art and woodshop room hadn't been touched since the school year ended. Sawdust still sat in a thin layer along the floor near the table saw, and the high windows let in long bars of afternoon light full of dust that hung motionless in the air. Caden pushed the door shut behind us and the latch caught with a soft click that sounded enormous in the empty room.
He turned around and looked at me and didn't say anything for a second. Then he crossed the room in three steps and put both hands on me, one sliding under my ass, the other gripping my hip, and lifted me straight off the ground.
I grabbed his shoulders on instinct and wrapped my legs around his waist, and he caught my mouth with his before I had fully settled into the hold. His mouth was rougher than Patrick's, more urgent, and I felt the difference immediately, a kind of hunger that didn't ask for permission, that was just implied. I held on with my legs locked behind his back and felt the solid muscle of him under my palms, his shoulders flexing as he carried me the few steps to the long workbench against the wall.
If Patrick could have a side piece, or whatever you call it, maybe I was his side piece. Regardless, I should have some too. Maybe.
Caden set me down on the edge of the table and didn't step back. He planted both hands flat on the wood on either side of my hips and pressed forward, and I felt him hard against me through all the layers of fabric between us, grinding once, slowly and firmly.
I pressed back into him. We stayed like that for a while, just the friction of our hips moving against each other, fully clothed, both of us breathing harder into each other with every pass as our mouths devoured each other. I sensed that he had missed me. And regardless of what he had done, I wanted this too. His forehead pressed down against mine and his hips kept working, slow rolling presses that were agonizingly stimulating.
Everything that had happened notwithstanding, he was my first love. My body still wanted this. I reached down between us and found the bulge of him through his shorts and squeezed, feeling him throb under my palm, and he made a sound against my mouth.
Then he stepped back, just far enough to get his hand into his waistband, and pulled himself out in one motion.
He was already fully hard, thick and long and curved slightly upward, and the sight of him standing there in the dusty light with his shorts pushed down just enough to let his monster out sent a fresh wave of heat through me. He didn't give me time to do anything about it myself. He put both hands on my shoulders and turned me bodily around on the table, spinning me until I was facing the other way, my legs hanging off the edge, and he stepped up behind and guided himself toward my face.
I opened for him and took him into my mouth as he pressed forward, and he was warm, and full against my tongue, and I took him in further than I had the first time, my jaw already remembering the shape of him from before, even from a different angle. I gagged once around him and pulled back half an inch, and then kept going.
"You've gotten better," he said, his low voice rough above me.
I groaned around him in response, and the vibration of it made him flex against my tongue.
His hands found my hips and pulled my shorts down in one motion, and I felt the air of the room against my bare skin.
I felt the first wet finger press into me, slowly testing my receptiveness, and I moaned around him with my mouth still full, my whole body adjusting to the stretch.
He worked the finger in deeper, found a rhythm, and added a second one not long after, scissoring slightly, opening me wider. I felt the stretch in a new way, It registered differently every time he pressed in again, a fullness that started as pressure and turned into tingles the longer it went on. My hips rocked back into his hand on their own, my mouth still working over him, and I heard his breathing go ragged above me.
"Fuck, you're tight," he said.
I felt him throb hard against my tongue right as he said it, somehow making him bigger in my mouth for a second. I pulled back, breathing hard, a thin line of spit connecting us for a moment before it broke.
He pulled his fingers free and turned me around, dropping lower until his face was at my crotch.
“Are you gonna suck me?” I said.
“No,” he replied, “No one should blow you.”
He lifted my legs and looked at my ass.
“That pink hole… damn I missed this pussy.”
I closed my eyes and felt his mouth on me, and then his tongue, warm and direct. He worked the wet muscle into me with the same committed attention I remembered from the shower with Patrick except rougher, faster, less careful. I gripped the edge of the table and pushed back into his face and felt my whole lower body go loose and hot.
He stood again and started rubbing his fat meat up and down my ass. He reached toward the workbench shelf without breaking stride, and I heard the small clatter of something being picked up, and then I felt his fingers, slick and cool, against my hole.
"Found some stuff in the cabinet," he said. "Mineral oil. Skin safe."
I didn't ask how he knew that.
I heard him spit into his hand, twice, mixing it with the mineral oil, and I felt him line himself up, the blunt heat of him pressing against my hole.
"Just do it," I said.
He pushed in, slow at first, and I gripped the edge of the table hard enough that the wood bit into my palms. The stretch burned in the good way, the way that made my back arch and my breath catch and not quite come back even. He gave me a few seconds and then pushed deeper, and I felt him bottom out, fully seated, his hips flush against me. It was already a much faster “warmup” than the first time, but it worked somehow.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, you feel so good."
He started moving, slow rolling thrusts at first that built harder and stronger with each push, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me into him with each stroke. My hard dick flopped in the air, tapping my abs repeatedly. I felt every inch of him inside me, the fullness that I had been missing for weeks of just Patrick's fingers, and the sensation hit something in me that I couldn't separate into simple pleasure or complicated feeling.
I thought about Patrick. I thought about him going home to that girl, about the year of “hookups” he'd kept from me, about his hands that were always so careful compared to Caden. And somehow the thought didn't stop anything. It just folded into the moment, made it sharper somehow. He was going to be with her tonight, not me. So this was fine. Even if Caden didn't deserve another shot at me, I deserved to take whatever I wanted. Who's to say I wasn't the one using him for sex at this point.
Caden's pace picked up, his grip on my hips tightening, the workbench creaking slightly under the rhythm of it. I dug my heels into his muscular ass and pulled him into me, encouraging him to go as hard as he could. He looked sexier than I had ever seen him as his body tensed up, adding more sweat than he already had, his shoulders tight as he held my body like I was just a little toy for him. I bounced into him as much as I could, meeting his thrusts, feeling the slap of skin against skin, feeling myself stretched and filled and penetrated .My whole body felt lit up from the inside.
He leaned forward over my body, one hand sliding up to grip my arm pit, his breath hot against my neck, his hips never slowing.
"You're such a hot piece of ass," he said, loud, almost too loud for the empty room. "I love fucking you, baby."
I felt the words land somewhere different than the last time he'd said something close to that. No I love you this time. Just the truth, finally, said plainly. I was a hot piece of ass, and he loved fucking me, and that was all either of us needed this to be.
He came hard while he pounded me rapidly, his whole body going rigid on top of me. I could feel him grow larger inside me as he pulsed out his baby batter into my guts, his fingers digging into my hip, his other hand tightening on my neck,. The feeling of him releasing inside me pushed me over right after, my own release spilling out onto my body.
We stayed like that for a second, both of us breathing hard, him still buried in me, his forehead dropped to my chest. He kissed my body a few times in the afterglow of his orgasm, technically the sweetest moment I had ever seen from him.
—[]—
We pulled our clothes back on in the dusty light without much conversation. I felt something different than I expected to feel. Not guilt exactly, not yet. I felt good, maybe a bit vindicated. I wasn’t sure if I had closed the loop on this whole Caden ordeal, or if I had just had my first “casual sex” encounter. Either way, this wasn't anything like the first time, the nervous fumbling, the falling in love with someone who didn't deserve it. This was something else entirely. I missed Patrick, but the wound was fresh, and in a weird way, Caden had helped put a band-aid on it.
"Glad we came to an understanding," Caden said, pulling his shirt back over his head.
"Works for me," I replied without looking at him.
"You around school again anytime soon?"
"I'll text you when I want some more," I said.
I stepped out of the room and let the door shut behind me.
I walked back out to the lot and found my bike still parked exactly where I'd left it, right up against the front bumper of the Tesla. There was a thin layer of dust and pollen across the hood and the windows from sitting in the lot all day. I licked my finger without thinking about it and tasted something faintly familiar, Caden’s dick, or maybe my own I guess. I laughed a little at myself for recognizing the taste.
I took my wet finger and drew on the driver's side window. A dick, simple, cartoonish. It came out better proportioned than I expected, given the canvas. I added a few squiggly jizz lines coming off the tip for good measure. I stood back and looked at it, tilting my head.
Then I got on my bike and rode home, feeling strangely pleased with myself the whole way.
—[]—
Patrick's truck was already in the driveway when I got back. He wasn’t normally home this early from work. I felt the pang the second I saw it, sharp and immediate, cutting straight through whatever satisfaction I'd been riding home with.
He must be getting ready for his date, I thought to myself. I didn’t know how to feel, but I didn’t exactly feel good.
I rolled my bike around to the side of the house and he came out the back door before I'd even gotten the kickstand down.
He was still wearing his work clothes. He was a little dusty, and a lot sweaty. He looked sexy as hell, which I hated.
He could read my face before I said anything.
"Hey," he said.
I raised a hand in an awkward half wave.
"I told that girl it's over," he said, before I could say anything else. "It didn't mean anything anyway. She just used me for sex sometimes, if I'm being honest. It was a bad habit I kept going along with. I don't even know what I was thinking. I'm sorry."
I watched something in his face waver, his eyes going a little glassy. I could see it in his face. He wanted to hold me. I wanted him to hold me. But I had just betrayed him. The pang in my stomach wasn’t because Patrick had hurt me, it was because I acted out afterward. I was a bigger ass than he had been. But true to my nature, I couldn’t keep secrets.
"I fucked Caden today," I said. "If we’re being transparent now."
He looked at me. The softness drained out of his expression for a second, replaced by a more complicated strain. He was working something out behind his eyes. I'd said it partly to be honest and partly because some small ugly part of me wanted it to land like a slap on his face, which I wasn’t capable of actually doing with my hand. I didn't fully know which part had won until I watched his face try to process it.
I felt like a piece of shit, and I couldn’t tell if he was going to lunge at me or tell me he never wanted to see me again, or both.
We stood there in the grass corridor between our two houses, right under both our bedroom windows, where this had basically all started, neither of us saying anything for a few seconds that felt much longer.
Then he took a step closer to me, and then another.
I felt my fear and my anger both softening before I'd decided to let it. My disappointment from earlier in the day was already clearing out of me, replaced by a simpler feeling, enjoying that he was still standing there, inching closer to me. He hadn’t walked away.
"I don't care what you did today," he said when his face was an inch from mine.
I felt something tighten low in my body, a positive sensation in my stomach that almost made me want to cry, mixed with the lust that came from proximity to Patrick. The emotions battled inside me, vying for priority as my confused, hormonal brain tried to rationalize everything that had happened.
He reached up and grabbed my hips, and I looked up at him.
"I just want you," he said.
I let myself go. His face and his words and his touch, and the meaningful gesture he made of breaking it off with that girl, canceling their plans, even if too late. He had turned me back to his side. I felt my heart grow three times larger, but so did my dick.
Lust won the battle, and I felt my crotch press back into him without me controlling it. His hands moved to hold my butt, gripping firmly. The vibe had shifted in milliseconds.
"I'm already lubed for you," I said, surprising myself that I could be so crass. “Mineral oil. And cum.”
His eyes went wide, and I saw something in his face that was hungrier than anything I'd seen from him yet, hungrier even than the shower or the nights in his bed.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he said.
I looked into his eyes.
"What're you waiting for?"