My 50 Shades of Smuttiness . . .

This is a continuation from CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

Angelo’s & Vinci’s Ristorante is a lovely, romantic spot. There are vines running up the exterior of the building, covering it in a dark green halo. Inside, small tables adorned with red and white checkered tablecloths, Chianti bottles with the soft glow of dripping candles, and it smells of garlic. I savor the smell, suddenly feeling incredibly hungry. We’re led to a small table in the corner, Troy never letting go of my hand as he sits beside me. Not across from me? My heart quickens a bit. He squeezes my hand slightly. I get all gooey. He’s going to dump you, he’s just putting you off your game. The thought is depressing and my joy immediately evaporates turning to apprehension.

“So I wanted to talk to you about something.” Troy begins after the waiter leaves. My heart leaps. I knew it, here we go. I attempt to retain my poker face, which is perpetually plastered on my face. He looks nervous. Of course he does! You made him do *that* last night! I don’t want to look into his eyes, though I do, faking it strong and steady. If he’s going to dump me, I’m going to be cool, collected and in charge of myself. There will be no silly girlish tears. He won’t get the satisfaction. Though you can’t really blame him, it’s really all your fault, dumbass.

“Oh?” My best nonchalant reply. Just act like it never happened, maybe it’ll all go away and you can be normal.

He nervously takes a sip of his water and clears his throat, “See, Jessica I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately, and last night even more.” Last night! I stop breathing, my heart races. “That was …” He takes a deep breath, “intense.” Shit. He remembers it, all of it.

“Troy, I don’t know what came over me.” My words flow out rushed and businesslike.

He stops me. “Wait, Jess, let me finish.” I just want to get up and walk out, this is beyond uncomfortable. “I liked it.” My mouth drops open slightly, I’m stunned into silence. Wait, so he’s gay? I should have known. The good ones are always gay. My fucking luck. And you’re the genius who introduced him to it.

“Oh…” is all I can force out of my mouth. He looks at me anxious, waiting for me to say more. Fuck! What do I say? Becoming more stoic, feigning my most stone-faced visage. “I think it’s lovely you’ve discovered something you enjoy, though I’m a bit surprised.” I’m all business. Let’s get this over with. My jaw tightens. “So will you and Aaron be doing more of that?” The thought of Troy gay makes my heart fall a bit, but my face stays firm. If he’s gay, he’s gay, not a lot you can do about it. Good point, even though the memories of our sexual escapades gives me a pang of sadness.

He squirms in his seat, “If you want us to.” What does I want have to do with this situation?

I let out an uncomfortable chuckle, “Troy, my wants have nothing to do with your newfound…” I pause, searching for the word… “sexual preferences.”

He cocks his head like a confused puppy. “What are you talking about? Your wants have everything to do with it.” I’m really confused and my poker face has fallen to the floor. What is he talking about?

“Whoa Troy, I think it’s great that you’ve discovered you’re gay, but I don’t need to be involved in it.”

“GAY?!” He says it so loudly the waiter and several patrons in the restaurant turn to gawk at us. Troy bursts into laughter. What’s so funny? This isn’t amusing! My would-be boyfriend is gay, I see no humor in it. “Jessica, I’m not gay. I figured all the sex we have would be the telltale sign.”

My confusion turns to an awkward feeling in the pit of my stomach. Bi? Oh no, I don’t think I can do that. “But you said you liked it.” I’m attempting to find any other answer but find my mind lacking a reasonable response.

“I did, but not the stuff I was doing with Aaron, actually that wasn’t that great.” My look of utter befuddlement deepens.

“Do you know what you’d like to order?” The waiter appears, oblivious to our rather intimate discussion. I’m grateful and irritated at the interruption. What is he talking about? He liked it, he didn’t like it, I don’t get it. We order quickly, I wish I was old enough to order a drink, because right now I’d throw back several in quick succession.

Troy looks to see that the waiter is out of earshot, “I liked that you liked it.” He turns crimson at this revelation. I’m allowing his words to sink in, letting them roll around in my brain, trying to grasp the meaning. A pang of guilt hits me. I’m not a well person for enjoying that or for dragging him into my sickness. I close my eyes and push that though from my mind. No. I can’t think that way.

I lean into him, placing my hand on the space between us, not touching him, “That’s what you liked?” I’m quiet, far quieter than I would normally be with a faint amount of disbelief in my voice.

He’s uncomfortable, “Well yeah, I certainly didn’t like touching Aaron’s hairy chest, but you looked so…” he loses his words momentarily, rubs his hands nervously on his thighs, “excited. I dunno, turned on? It made me want to do it for you.” He’s bright red, rubbing his legs more anxiously than before.

I’m astounded. He likes what I liked. Say something, dummy. Is this good? Is this bad? It’s so wrong on several levels. My heart tightens a little as I realize I’ve just ushered this sweet man into my newfound twisted affliction. Game face girl, put it on. I smile shyly, which I never do unless I want something or I’m hiding something, “Really?” It’s nearly a whisper and betrays my thoughts, tainted with disbelief, an edge of sadness and an overcompensating coat of happiness. Please say he didn’t pick up on all of that, I quickly firm my resolve and charge ahead. “I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m not really sure what came over me, I was just terrified of a threesome (said in a slight whisper) with two men. I mean, I can hardly handle one cock, let alone two!” What? Why did I say all of that? I laugh to try and take any seriousness out of the outburst. I quickly grab the water, spilling it on my shirt as I take a long drink. Calm down! I take a deep breath and set the glass down. Confidence girl, confidence. I slowly sit up a bit straighter, gaining my confidence a bit, looking at Troy.

“I didn’t understand what was happening, but it was really fucking hot.”  His eyes search mine, his fingers gently stroking the top of my hand. There’s a fire in his eyes barely visible behind his innocent boyish looks. I smirk, remembering how sensational it felt to have them under my control, butterflies rattle my stomach.

The waiter places hot plates in front of us, the smell is fantastic and I could inhale it in one breath I’m so famished. I ogle the tortellini on my plate and smile at Troy. He starts digging into his spaghetti with extra meatballs. The thought of extra balls makes my twisted mind chuckle. Balls? Oh grow up. I work to delicately eat my food; seriously Italian food isn’t known for its grace of eating, nor am I.

“Oh! I forgot what I wanted to talk to you about.” He says between bites. So there’s more than him liking… you know, *that*?  I look up, curious. His voice sounds apprehensive, “My mom is having a dinner party next weekend and I was wondering if you would come with me?”

Wait, what? A dinner party? Like a normal boyfriend and girlfriend? You’re not his girlfriend, you’re his fuck buddy. I ignore my snarkiness, swallow my biteful of food. “Um… sure, that’d be great.” I smile. Actually it will be great. This the next step in a real relationship after all, right?

The week flies by, filled with margaritas at noon, ditched classes and the usual sinful debauchery of college. I don’t spend much time thinking about the pending dinner party until the day before. On Friday, Troy and I spend a quiet night in my dorm room. Again, thank goodness for my roommate who’s never there. It feels very boyfriend/girlfriendesque. We’re relaxed together, talking about classes, what he’s going to do after graduation. It’s peaceful, and I’m grateful for it after last weekend.

On Saturday Troy drives us to his parent’s house, although “house” is an inadequate word, it would qualify as an estate. My eyes are huge as I look at Troy, “Troy! Is there something you want to tell me?” I indicate the largess of the house.

“Oh, yeah,” he says sheepishly, “my folks are kinda loaded.”

I shake my head, “Kinda? And doesn’t that mean you’re loaded, too?” I’m exasperated, though I don’t really know why. What do I care if he’s loaded? Because he’ll be like Jonathan. The thought is unpleasant in my mind. I reel in my emotions. He’s not him. It doesn’t matter.

“I didn’t think it mattered. Why are you mad?” Troy looks at me defensively. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter.” I look at him sweetly, “I guess it would have been nice to have some notice.” I suddenly become aware of my dress and worry that I’ll look like a pauper at the royal ball. Troy exits the car, walks around to get my door,  I sigh but gather my courage and get out, ready to face the parents.

The house is a massive colonial style home, the entryway has a large chandelier filling the ample space above a round marble table with some sort of vase on it. A curved staircase to the left, to the right a large sunken living room with several guests chatting with drinks in their hands.

As soon as we walk in the door, Troy leans down to quickly say, “Oh, I told my mom you were 21 so you can drink.” This news is a welcome shock, because I’m not sure what else I’d be able to do with my hands. I smile at him, my gratitude obvious and he laughs, making him light up. He really is adorable.

Walking towards us is a petite blonde in a light gray dress with pink scarf and sparkling broach, her eyes are green and look just like Troy’s. She opens her arms and warmly embraces him. “Sweetheart, I’m so glad you made it.” She pulls away from him and looks at me, “you must be Jessica.”

I reach my hand out to shake hers, “Yes I am pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O’Donnell.” She ignores my hand and comes at me for a hug. It’s warm and sincere and makes me feel welcome.

“Anyone our Troy brings home is deserving of a hug.” She says, a small chastisement of her son.

“Mom, please don’t.” Troy quietly pleads with his mother. She scoffs him off with a wave of her hand.

“I’m just joking.” She looks at me and I can tell she’s been drinking a bit too much already, “He’s always so sensitive.” I smile and nod though it’s doubtful anything is registering as her level of insobriety is greater than I had originally thought. Maybe you shouldn’t drink, you don’t want to end up like her. This is sage advice. She travels off to greet more guests, leaving Troy and I alone.

“I’m sorry about her, she loves her parties.” Troy is a bit embarrassed, flushing slightly.

“Don’t worry. Trust me, I’ll be apologizing whenever you meet my mom.” I roll my eyes at the thought. He laughs, takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. We grab two Heinekens and head into the living room to interact with the other guests.

Mrs. O’Donnell is animatedly telling a story of her getting lost in France on a recent trip. She’s engaging and everyone around her is enthralled in her tale. She’s really quite entertaining. I look up at Troy who’s smiling and gently squeeze his arm in a slight hug. I wonder where his father is or who his father is, but allow the question to fall from my mind as the surrounding people burst into a fit of laughter at the conclusion of Mrs. O’Donnell’s tale.

“Do you want a tour?” Troy is looking down on me with an earnest smile.

In my best British accent I bow my head toward him saying “Show me your castle, sire.” A playful smirk spreads across my face.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Smart ass.” Takes my hand and leads me away from the still gathered crowd in the living room.

The adjacent dining room is set up for the dinner party, the place settings are like something out of a magazine, the bone china has a beautiful blue and gold ornate pattern on the edges, wine and water goblets look to be made of crystal, and of course the silverware is actual silver. Opulent. It’s all I can muster in my head, and it truly is opulent. Each chair is wrapped in a cream colored linen cloth with a rich blue sash that matches the dinner china securing it in place. It’s like out of a movie, and makes me somewhat uncomfortable. Why? Because it’s like super rich?  That, and because I feel oddly out of place; one of these things do not belong. The whore, clearly. I shake my head at myself and insure my game face is still intact.

A tall man with light hair rushes into the dining room, startled by Troy and me. He looks at me appraisingly, yet confused, then quickly to Troy and realization dawns on him, “Troy, my boy!” He approaches Troy, wrapping him in a huge bear hug, his eyes are bright and full of joy, it’s infectious and makes me smile broader than I might normally.

“Hi dad, good to see you, too.” Troy is just as warm with his father, it’s endearing. “Dad, I want you to meet Jessica, my girlfriend.” Girlfriend! I’m his girlfriend?! When did this happen? I’m excited but there’s something about the word that doesn’t settle well with me. Girlfriend?  I smile, though my surprise is in my eyes as I glance at Troy and his father. “James, O’Donnell, Jessica Anderson,” He motions from his father to me.

I smile my brightest smile, reach my hand out, “Mr. O’Donnell, it’s a pleasure. You have a beautiful home.” He laughs and pulls me into a hug, ignoring my outstretched hand. Oh, a hugging family, I’m not certain why but this surprises me.

“Jessica, please call me James.” He pulls back examining me for a moment, “Troy, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” I flush, which I never do, most likely because I feel as though he’s just summed me up like a piece of furniture, it’s unnerving. I smile, hiding any trace of irritation and do my best to act coy.

“Thank you, James, please call me Jess. You’re very kind.” I quickly take Troy’s arm, working to pull off my best girlfriend pose on his arm.

His dad smiles, raising his eyebrows at Troy in approval without concern of me seeing. “Well kids, I have to finish up in the kitchen. See you at dinner.” He rushes back into the kitchen.

I look at Troy with a questioning look on my face, “Your dad is happy.” I chuckle.

Troy leads me outside to the back yard. It’s spectacular, a spacious patio with stonework and a built-in grill and minibar that opens to an ameba shaped pool, with lights around the edges and glowing on the waterfall and stone slide, it looks like a child’s paradise. I gasp slightly, “Oh Troy, this is stunning!”

He smiles and pulls me closer, “Thanks, I loved playing in that pool when I was a kid.”

“But you don’t now?”

“Well no,” Troy answers a bit puzzled, “I’m not a kid and I don’t really spend that much time with my folks anymore.” Duh, of course! Why did you ask him such a stupid question? He leads me down some steps to a small path. “But this is what I really want you to see.”

I’m intrigued. Is he trying to impress me? Mission accomplished. I smile a slightly cocky smile as we approach darkness. I mean it’s really dark, oddly dark for the rest of the well-lit grounds and I’m getting a little nervous. What does he want me to see? His murderous axe collection? Where is he taking you?! Fortunately it’s dark so he can’t see the panic on my face. Butterflies jump in my stomach.

“It’s just a little further.” He says calmly, confidently navigating the darkness. Of course he knows where he’s going, this is where he buries the bodies. If I scream, will party goers hear me? Doubtful. I think about anything I’ve been taught about fighting off attackers. Am I being paranoid? YES! But I still imagine how I can try to take down this man who’s much bigger than me.

Troy stops, “Ah here we are.” And with the flick of his hand, massive lights flood over us, temporarily blinding me, ultimately revealing tennis courts. Tennis courts? This is the big thing he wants to share?

I look confused, “Tennis courts?” It’s a question directed towards him, my befuddlement clear.

“Well yeah, I play, or used to play in high school, CIF Champs!” He says with obvious pride. I visibly relax. Champs!

My smile beams, “Champs you say? Wow, that’s impressive.” I walk toward the net, “but you don’t play anymore?” He shakes his head. “Pity we don’t have any racquets.” A playful pout is on my lips.

He laughs, “Oh? Miss Anderson, you play?” His cockiness is apparent.

“No actually, I don’t. I treat tennis like baseball, but it would be fun to watch how exasperated you’d get about it!” I make a goofy face to tease him and he lunges for me, but not before I can jump out of his reach. “Ah, ah, ah… you gotta be faster than that, O’Donnell.” I kick off my heels and begin running away from him. He chases, though the grip on his dress shoes isn’t forgiving on a tennis court and I stay ahead of him for a while.

I get to the far edge of the fence and Troy corners me playfully. “Oh sweetie, you’ve screwed yourself now.” He jeers playfully. He approaches me; playful maliciousness in his eyes, my back is now pressed against the fence. What’s he going to do?  My stomach flutters with nervous excitement then I get a scrumptious idea of debauchery.

I take his hands by the wrists and bring his fingers to my face, he eyes me with wonder. I trace my lips with his fingers; begin sucking them each one by one, my long, erotic tongue lapping his thumb, taking it into my mouth, sucking hard my teeth grating his skin. I move his other hand to my neck, down my collarbone to my breast where my hand over his we fondle my breast beneath the soft fabric of my dress. I moan slightly, releasing his thumb and sliding that hand down to my other breast. As he pinches at my nipples my head tilts back while I audibly gasp at the sweet combination of pleasure and pain. I direct one hand down my chest, tracing over my stomach, down my thigh to the hem of my dress, sliding it up so his fingers are grazing my bare thigh up to my panties. He grips my breast tighter when I take his fingertips to touch the already wet lace from the strip of panty between my legs. I move the small piece of fabric aside and glide his finger up and down my lips, letting the tip trace the inner lips, feeling the moisture. He angles his finger and slides it inside of me, gently circling the entryway. I force his finger deep inside me, leaning in to him, breathing on his neck, then pulling it out and quickly bringing it to my lips to lick and suck off my sweet juices. His mouth gaped open, his eyes flood with fire as I suck his finger slowly in and out of my mouth. I bring his hand back below my skirt, move aside the panty fabric tearing it slightly and move his finger to my throbbing clitoris. Slowly I move his finger around my pulsating clit moaning, gripping his shoulder with my free hand. I use his fingers to massage it, and then increase the speed. My legs are feeling weak as I use him to rub myself towards orgasm. I’m leaning on him, breathing heavy into his neck, gripping his shoulder as the feeling of wetness slowly leaks out of me, his fingers rubbing me faster. I'm unable to process the intensity as I let him take over. “Oh fuck that feels good,” I breathe into his ear. Can I orgasm right here leaning against a fence at his parent’s house? The feeling grows and I know I don’t want to stop it. I quickly inhale and gasp as the heat radiates from his fingers, spreading like wild fire through my body causing me to convulse and shake, my nails digging into his shoulder. “OH FUCK!” I scream out too loud as the orgasm takes me, my legs like jelly beneath me barely able to hold me upright. I’m lost in the moment, in the feeling of his fingers, of my clit raging, the smell of my breath on his neck, the wetness now sliding down my thighs, this is heaven, agonizing heaven.

I push his hand away from my over sensitized clitoris and clasp his face between my hands fighting the urge to say something stupid like “I love you,” and kiss him with not just passion but a frenetic need, a desire gripped me like never before and I need him in this moment desperately. I need him inside of me; I need to feel his body on mine. The shockwaves of the orgasm still running through my body, he lifts me up, wraps my legs around him and walks, well kind of stumbles as I’m kissing him fiercely, toward the bench beside the tennis court. He sets me down gently on my feet, I’m able to stand well enough, but I drop to my knees before him and begin eagerly unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants, my mouth teasing his erection through the cloth, pulling the pants down and his boxers where he springs forth, eager, hard and dripping. I lick the moisture from the tip, and then draw my tongue down the shaft, my hand gripping it the other pushing his pants down to the ground. Deliberately, I suck the head into my mouth, then down the shaft until the tip is hitting the back of my throat. Drawing it in as deeply as possible then looking up to see his eyes lustful but surprised, I feel a sense of strength and power in this moment. There won’t be another time when I own a man as much as I do in this instant. He would sell his kidney for me to finish this, or at least that’s how I feel. It’s a heady feeling as our eyes lock, my mouth sucking him harder, hand gripping to help fill the gap. I love this sense of power. Is this what all the girls feel like when they do this?  So many of them complain like it’s a chore, can’t they see what a gift it is to have this power? That’s all I can see in his eyes, feel in my gut: power, control, the sense that I rule over him in some bizarre unseen way. All thoughts of wanting him in any other way dissipated; I want nothing more than this moment, than the feeling of my mouth wrapped around him. My eagerness gets the better of me and I suck harder and faster, speeding up the moment beyond what I wanted. Troy is unable to control himself, he grabs at my hair, stutters, “Oh God! I’m gonna….” And with a loud grunt I feel his salty cum erupt in my mouth and slide down my throat.

As he shudders and convulses, my mouth slowly still sucks him, gently lapping his over sensitized head with my tongue. I don’t feel used or slutty, I feel good, happy, satisfied. For a brief moment there’s no question of us, what we’ve done, what I’ve made him do, it’s just peaceful. Is this that afterglow thing I’ve seen in movies? Why now? Why not after regular bedroom sex? My mind begins filling with all the thoughts about how really different I am from other girls, and not in a good way. Damnit. I push the thoughts aside and stand up, playfully helping his pants up. He’s smiling at me, but in his eyes I see… well I’m not really sure what it is. He seems happy, but I guess it’s kind of… warm? Can warm be an emotion? Well if it can he’s that.

“That was…” he trails off. That was what??? Great? Awful? You’re a wretched whore for doing that? Just get it over with!  “… amazing. Jessica, you’re amazing.” I feel myself relax on the inside, my stomach gets little butterflies. AMAZING!!!

We rejoin the dinner guests in time for supper; our absence happily had gone unnoticed. Troy holds my hand under the table as normal conversation bounces around the room. It’s a terribly normal evening, I feel welcome, at ease, and Troy’s parents are funny, engaging and though his mother is clearly drunk, she’s a funny, happy drunk so at least it’s entertaining.

During the drive home, Troy doesn’t let go of my hand; that made me smile. He’s quiet drive and as he walks me to my dorm room I wonder if he’s going to stay the night. I don’t want to dwell on what we are or aren’t but I find my mind wandering towards those thoughts. I’m not a big fan of commitment, but I don’t want to be alone. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. At my door I clumsily get my keys out of my purse. “Do you want to stay?” I say hopefully.

He chuckles and says, “I didn’t think there was an option.” I look at him quizzically. He blushes slightly, “I figured we’d be spending the night together after this evening’s happenings.” Happenings?  He half sigh, half huffs, “You know, when I called you my ‘girlfriend’? You didn’t say anything.” My face is completely blank. “Well? Was that okay? Can I call you that?”

That’s the oddest question I’ve ever heard. Can I call you my girlfriend?  I tilt my head a bit confused, “Well you can call me your girlfriend only if I’m your actual girlfriend. Troy, are you asking me to go steady?”

He smiles his all-American smile. “Yes, Jessica, will you go steady with me?”