Best Laid Plans Ch. 09

Chapter 9: The one with the Sexting

         We sat staring at the front of my duplex for a good minute. Throats were cleared, thumbs were twiddled. Jeff was either attempting to ask me to go steady or he wanted his jacket back. I wasn't giving in to either. We have a complex friendship. We've had the casual sex thing, we've had the monogamous relationship thing. He's made me cry, he's made me wet, and if I've watched a bad ro-com, I have nightmares about getting married to him. What ticked me off the last time with Jeff was when he gave me my first orgasm through intercourse and then screwed Ann Gardner the next day. Not even twelve hours after a toe curling, god-swearing orgasm, he’s slipped his ding-dong into another woman. Call me old fashioned, but I’m disillusioned by the amount of casual sex my generation considers normal. I don’t slip from one bed to the next. I make only one bed, fluff the pillows, and sleep in it.

         I don't have the patience for his wandering dick. I also cannot stand Ann. She worked with me at a part-time job sophomore summer and she's that girl who giggles too loudly at the cute guys' jokes, smirks at your bad hair day, and says 'thanks' with a heaping pile of bullshit attached to it. In the middle of going down on Steven Tucker, she asked him how many calories were in come. We’re friends only through facebook.

         When I went through my first major tear spilling break-up junior year one of my friends bought me this book called "He's not that interested." I've learned to let go of half-assed relationships and immediately delete numbers when they don't call after two days. I try to delete Jeff, but every time I do, he ends up in between my legs. This would be less difficult if I didn't find him so goddamn sexy. Jeff was made out of the same Midwestern genetic makeup that created men like Brad Pitt and George Clooney. I could see him becoming a silver fox at forty and wearing his high school gym t-shirt to bed every night. Jeff had always been in and out of my life and putting him back on the front burner was a thought that I didn't want to think about. He was fun on occasion, and he could make me laugh about spaghetti and meatballs. When an image of him and Ann going at it doggy style flashed in my frontal lobe, I started reaching for the door handle.

         "Wait," Jeff said before I could high tail it out of there. His eyes went dark like he was concentrating, or he was constipated.
         "What?"

         "Do you work tonight?" Jeff reached up and tucked a loose strand behind my ear like a mother or a concerned lover. Goosebumps followed.

         "I-" I got cut off by Mozart. I dug through my deceivingly large purse, pulling out the come stained shirt, a bottle of hair spray, three tubes of various make-up bottles, and receipts to taco bell. By the time my phone was reached, Jeff was humming along with Symphony 40.

         It was Nolan.

         "When I said tomorrow, what I really meant was tonight. Sorry about the confusion. That sort of thing happens when you pull an all nighter. Are you still available?" he asked. I turned to Jeff who'd taken to dusting off the dashboard with his sleeve.

         "Yeah."

         "Great, I'm picking you up at seven." I hung up with Nolan and refused to look Jeff in the eye.

         "Guess you're busy," he said. There was a slight pang of guilt in my gut that I wanted to smoother with a pillow. What is this? Did I just feel bad about blowing Jeff off? I shrugged and pretended that it was a normal thing to have guys calling me left and right, telling me out on dates, telling me to wear my hair down.

         “We could do something before seven,” I suggested. The only thought bubbles over my head involved scratching this itch I had on my upper back where the curls of my hair hit. Jeff was thumbing the steering wheel probably thinking about whether he wanted Arby’s or Hardy’s for lunch.

"I could make you lunch?" I suggested this because my brain temporarily left and forgot that I didn't cook.

Jeff's eyebrows perked up. A home cooked meal is a rare find in college life. I used my oven to store the pots and pans my mom saw fit to purchase me at a garage sale. This isn't 1954, and the only thing I can cook is a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. Or I could run over to Taco Bell and get a quesadilla and not have to do dishes. Ramen noodles aside, girls who can make a pan of lasagna to feed six and sizzle the boys at the beach in a string bikini are almost extinct. Thick, meaty and chunky can become more than just the lasagna. I'm a college graduate and Betty Crocker and I have been meaning to get together for some time now. Did Jeff deserve a three way with Betty and me?

"I've got to get some work done on the website."

I wasn't sure if that meant he was a picky eater, or if he just didn't want to spend non-business, non-sexual time with me. After you cook for a guy, you might as well list yourselves as "In a Relationship" with them on Facebook. We said a brief goodbye with an awkward pause where a hug should have been inserted. I thought about kissing him on the cheek but I'm not his grandma and he's made it clear I'm not his girlfriend either.

         After he peeled away, I was left alone to my own devises in the living room. It felt empty without sloth Kevin on my couch. I felt empty. Maybe Joe moving in was a good idea. Then I'd permanently have a giant refrigerator snooping leach living with me. Maybe I should just get a dog. Too much responsibility, maybe a hamster.

         I'd gotten so caught up in feeling lonely I didn't notice the mysterious packages piled up on the porch addressed to Mistress Kink, the online name Jeff and Kevin had come up with for my secret identity. Brown paper packages tied up with string would be able to pull me out of my slump. After ten minutes of trying to pry them open with my fingernails, I gave in and came back with a kitchen knife.

         "Compliments of Naughty Novelties," the typed up note read after scavenging through one million packing peanuts. Hmm. Deeper in the mess lay an assortment of vibrators. My first thought was 'Ooo, free stuff!' My second thought was, 'Damn you Jeff, for giving them my address.' I spread out the following: two silver bullets, a purple, yellow, and fuchsia dildo/vibrator, a perplexing tube of lipstick, oh it's another vibrator, and a palm sized ball with silicone spikes. Oh boy. I don't think my night stand can fit all of this. Perhaps the linen closet?

         I got a text from Joe reminding me to clear out the second bedroom. Grrr. I had a hot date in two hours and it would be spent priming and primping, stupid head. Right now, I looked like a packing peanut monster. Green little bits sticking out of my hair, to my jeans, and inside the pockets of Jeff's jacket.

         Shower!

         Panties, panties, panties. Sifting through thongs and lace undies thirty minutes before seven o'clock could make a girl realize how many dryer eaten lingerie pieces she needs to throw out. Commando? Ah, no. If I got excited I'd probably leak onto whatever chair I was sitting on. I closed my eyes and reached into the mix. I peeked, had a do-over, and pulled out a lace up thong similar to the one lost in Jeff's apartment.
Now what to wear? I tried on my entire closet twice, posing in front of the mirror and sticking out my tongue. I chose a yellow summer dress to match my new vibrator. I've got chestnut frizzy hair that was tamed four years ago when I bought a straightening iron and green eyes that popped with this number. I'm naturally slim, but I also work my butt off to stay that way. I run so I can eat the burgers and milkshakes. Make up was easy, breezy, beautiful with knock-em dead smokey eyes. Something wasn't hitting the mark with the dress. Too girl next door? Too desperate? I unzipped and tugged the dress overhead and pulled on jeans and a v-neck, switched to a stretchy black blouse, switched back to the v-neck, put a bra on, took it off, put it back on.

         First dates are hard. Cody just rolls out of bed and into a party. By the end of the night he has made out with three sluts, fondled five pairs of tits, and has received at least one blowjob.

         Nolan arrived on time wearing a plaid button up shirt, jeans, and shit-kickers. If you missed it the first time around, Nolan has sandy blonde hair cut sort of long, but short in the back. He had a great smile and all of his own teeth; all a girl from southern Illinois could want. He also has warm chocolate eyes that could make my knees knock from fifty feet. He is my boss and also takes center stage in most of my daydreaming fantasies.
         Dear God, please let me to get laid. Love, Callie. I grinned when I saw him and got my lip caught on my upper teeth.

         He drove a pick-up truck, they all look the same to me, and told me I looked pretty. Awe, shucks. I may or may not have swooned. I wanted to relish every moment, but also wanted to breathe, walk, and function on a consistent level so he didn't think I would just stare at him for the next two hours and drool.

         "You've been a godsend, Callie."

         At this point on our date, we were sampling tapas at one of the hipster restaurants that had taken Thortan by storm. Basically you pay an obscene amount of money for a maximum of three bite appetizers. If I was a dude, I'd never bring a first date here. I would be bankrupt in seconds. My nipples had been on high alert since he arrived at my door step, so when he started talking about my greatness, they perked up to listen.

         I didn't hear that, say it again.
         "Seriously, Callie. I don't know where we'd be without you. Penny picks up a lot of slack, too, but you really do go the extra mile." Nolan reached across the table to pet my hand. I mentally ordered it to stay; but it slid back to his side.

         "Nolan, it's no problem," as long as I get paid for it, "I'm glad to help."

         "Order whatever you want, Callie. I want you to be able to let your hair down tonight. This is my thanks to you."

         Wait? What? Was he thanking me for pulling all nighters by buying me fifty dollar cheese sticks? Was this a "Thank you" dinner? This wasn't a date?

         Just to be clear, "So you're thanking me by letting me order whatever I want?"

         "Sure, whatever you want. Anything for my wonderful employee of the month!"

         I didn't want pricey appetizers, I wanted him to. . . shoot me. Just shoot me. Girl boner down. I wanted to leave right then and there. I wanted to stomp out like a two year old and burry my head in the sand like an ostrich. Stupid. I was so stupid.

"Such an idiot," I mumbled a decimal over a whisper.

         Nolan looked up from his plate and smiled as if to say, "What was that, perfect take-for-granted-slave?"

         This was the moment I could simply explain to him that I liked him. I knew there was a smidgen of a chance he picked up on the hints. Penny said he knew and Penny was right about eighty percent of the time. Were men really that oblivious? Did I have to reach over and grab his crotch for him to understand that I wanted him?

         My nerves won out and I mumbled something about how perfect I fit the job. I didn't eat much after that. I was too pissed to be hungry. Thank God for the shipment of vibrators that came today.

         There was no awkward goodbye when Nolan pulled up to my duplex. There was no goodbye kiss, no goodbye hug, not even a goodbye handshake. I felt like Christmas was canceled. After Nolan dropped me off, after I flopped on the couch and beat up the cushions screaming cuss word, after cuss word, I called Jeff.

         "I need a pick me up," I said, stifling a sniffle. Did I just cry? This day was going to hell in a hand basket quick. What would it take to bring it back up? Fucking Jeff didn't seem like such a bad idea.

         Jeff answered with, "I thought you were occupied?"

         What am I, a Johnny-on-the-spot? He was clearly sitting at home waiting for me to give in. Was he going to make me say it?

         "My brother is moving in tomorrow. I have one more night by myself before the family feud begins. Are you coming over or not?" I was never great at begging. I discounted this as being a slutty move. Jeff was the last person who I'd been with and I'd been celibate for the past month. It was becoming painfully obvious now that he would probably be the only person I'd ever be with again.

         "Why should I?" he played. Oh no he didn't. I hung up and ripped off my shirt and bra. Two can play at this game. Let's see how long he lasts. I took a few tasteful erotic shots; smiles, tits, and curves then texted them to him under the subject, 'Because I Said So'. He was probably giving his dick a pep talk right now.

         Jeff flew over here in his bat mobile ten minutes later. I had put my jersey cotton v-neck back on but left the bra out. Jersey cotton is baby butt soft and is practically translucent when I have hard nipples. It hugs my breasts by conforming to the slightest curve. The second I opened the door, my shirt was torn off lying in shreds in my foyer. Damn it! That makes one thong, a pair of jeans and shirt. Jeff goes through my clothes like a lawn mower. Whatever, I was getting laid.

         My mouth met his in record speed, pulling, tugging and getting wet. I wanted skin on skin or else I was going to self combust. No words were spoken, just hot and heavy lust. We tumbled into the bedroom, like an Axe commercial. He was tripping over his pants' legs and getting caught on his shoes. I didn't have pants on to begin with so I was a bit more graceful. His hard-on was slipping through the slit of his boxer briefs and my body switched into wanton mode.

Dear God,

Thank you for working in mysterious ways. Please inform Nolan through an angel or a plague that I no longer need his services,

XOXO,

Callie

         It didn't need to be perfect, it just needed to be a great fuck. I deserved this, right? I needed to use Jeff just one more time, then I'll find a suitable boyfriend, right? No, that's not it. I needed someone to take me to the hipster restaurants, not because they're thanking me for extra credit and not because they wanted to get in between my legs. I wanted the whole experience of a proper relationship. Jeff was just a one night stand that kept happening. Oh no, I was fading. I could feel my conscience getting the best of me. It's a creepy crawly feeling, like a spider slinking down your spine.

         "Jeff," I said bring both heads to full attention. A pair of crisp hazel eyes shot back at mine.

         Oh, Jesus. I wanted something more and he wasn't it. Why do revelations have to happen at such inopportune times? Temptation was strong with this one, but for once in my life I didn't want to succumb to my hormones. To be honest, if I let this run its course we'd end up knocking boots with images of a messed up future relationship dancing through my head. When Harry met Sally was right, you can't just be friends with the opposite sex.

         "I just wanted to show you the new toys I got," I said pushing away and praying that we'd make up an excuse for what just happened in the back of our heads, never to be spoken out loud. I just rained on his parade. My parade. I suck, suck, suck!

         "New toys, huh?" Jeff spoke unlatching his mouth from my neck. It had been there for a good thirty seconds which meant I probably had a good sized hickie. Make-up and ice, make-up and ice, I reminded myself to cool off and not get upset. The last time we'd been together my neck looked like it was crime and he was Scruff McGruff.

         "Addressed to Mistress Kink, sent to my front porch. Wouldn't know anything about that would you?" A Grinch smile crept up the sides of his face and his heart shrunk two sizes too small.

         "The viewers wanted some variety. They voted on a toy you should use for the next shoot. The spikey ball won." I started to feel my eye twitch. Best not to ignore these things when dealing with Jeff. It took me approximately one week to create a masturbating website with Jeff Morrison and the Hamburgler, AKA, Kevin Miller. Each day, after I've slept in till 3p.m., the guys come over to watch me go to town on my cooter. The website has yet to make any substantial financial impact on my bank account, but it does make for a fun day job. So far, viewers have requested that I give a guy a hand-job; a task I preformed dutifully on a volunteer from work, Cody. Now they're requesting a change up on the vibrators. Ever heard of a dictatorship? I think I should run one.

         To this very second I don't know why I decided to start up a masturbating website. Maybe it was the Catholicism shoved down my throat at an early age, or maybe it was the bank account drying up like my mother's chicken. When I started this monstrosity, a month ago, I knew that eventually it would all come to a chaotic flame ball end. Something like the end of Die Hard; explosions optional. But instead I've forgotten that what I do isn't normal. It's my way of life, a raunchy dirty life, but my life. I imagined the future to be perfectly simple. No Asian exchange student, whose only English is reciting the dollar value items on the menu at Muchos Nachos. I could dream big and want a house, a car that doesn't scream college hand-me down and make five course meals that don't include ramen noodles. Along the way to finding myself, I was getting caught up in small scale pornography, but at this point, I was starting to not care.

         Jeff was still trying to find a hole for his flesh key. I was still trying to find an exit strategy. Jeff maneuvered us onto the bed with a blink of the eye. Seriously, one second I was sneaking out of the back door, the next I was on my back, legs spread wide, making room for Jeff Jr. My breath caught in my throat and I wanted a few more minutes of denial shielding my subconscious from its ideas of dignity and morality. Jeff's body was so tantalizing right now. I wanted to make a few stops in la-la land before going cold-turkey. I wanted to bring myself to one last brink of insanity orgasm that would leave my clit pulsing for an hour afterwards. Gosh, good thing I wasn't addicted to drugs. Quitting casual sex is hard enough.

         His hands brushed past my ribs, giving me a nice warm shot of liquid excitement. Jeff wasn't hurried tonight, nor would he be, he had me thriving with his little pinkie. I closed my eyes waiting to be swept up in hurricane Jeff, but I was still hearing Jeff breathing, Jeff fumbling around, Jeff not being Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now. For fucksake!

         Before my filter could stop it, "I don't want to do this."

         He paused for a split second. In his eyes I saw the ice cream in his cone fall to the ground. Jeff fancied our relationship as care-free casual and strings? What strings? He came from a long line of He-mans. Tough outer shell men who knew two things; how to start fires and how to run away from responsibility.

         "The pictures you sent tell a different story," Jeff responded trying to keep his own reputation from crumbling. First Cody, now Jeff; if I kept up the pace, I would end up becoming celibate.

         "I was. . ." an idiot and I'm sorry I led you on, "teasing you."

         Jeff pulled back, boner deflated and the green horny to his eyes faded. He slid off of my bed not saying a word while following the trail of clothes leading to the front door. I stayed on the bed, mostly naked, with a tint of guilt hanging over my head like a little black rain cloud. When I heard the front door slam, I buried my head under a pillow and waited for sleep to erase everything I just fucked up.