Short Smut(10)

“How about a freebie, Jack? Marylou, why don’t you show Jack your talents? Give him one on the house.”

I forced my face toward Jack’s. I hated that Jack was seeing me like this—usually I was a well-put-together kind of girl, killing my classwork and owning other students in discussion. I hated (and loved) how Dean could make me feel things. I could have either died or come just then. Tip me in one direction or another.

“Thank you,” Jack said. “That’s very thoughtful.”

“You heard him, Marylou.” Dean had a twisted smile on his face, like something you’d see through a broken mirror. “Climb in back and do your class project.”

“What?”

“Do your homework, Marylou. Get it out of the way before we get to Ohiopalooza.”

I laughed out loud. Half relieved, half frustrated. “Homework, yeah, Of course. Jack, homework—right?”

* * *

Jack and I knocked out some very low quality work. Our class together was Criminal Justice, and neither of us could speak our minds how to incarcerate persistent offenders. Not with a hair-trigger persistent offender hanging off every word.

“I declare that we’re done,” I said.

“Um…” Jack glanced at Dean’s seat. He didn’t want our excuse to evaporate.

On queue, Dean shouted, “Stay back there, Marylou. You have room to spread out.”

Not really. Lonely toys and a giant duffel bag of scuba equipment occupied half of the back seat.

Jack and I huddled on the other half. Our thighs pressed together, and our shoulders bumped like ice cubes in a defeated alcoholic’s glass tumbler.

“Fuck, you guys are depressing,” Dean groaned.

My phone vibrated with a text. WTF? I don’t see blueballs happening. Rev him up, ML! You need to go from bore to whore before I fall asleep.

So it was really happening. You want me to make out with Jack?

I will pay you $20, he texted back.

Huh. That was a punch in the gut. Oddly, it was a good punch.

Do I have a choice? I texted.

No.

I gave Jack a severely artificial smile. “Jack, how do you like Ali Katz?”

“She’s great. Really sexy. You remind me of her. Not the sexy part, though of course you do. I mean are. I mean her hair…”

I turned to him. In the close confines of the back seat, this meant my boob pressed against his arm. I slid my knee up his thigh.

“Thanks. She’s my most favorite singer of all time.”

“Really, Marylou?”

“Oh my God, yes! Ali is so awesome.” I stretched into him so I could half whisper, half nibble in his ear: “Don’t tell anyone, but I would totally be her groupie!”

“Oh, you would? So I would, too.”

He was wooden and nervous, and he talked like an ESL class, but I knew I was reaching him. A shiver ran through his body. His eyes rolled wildly toward the back of Dean’s head and turned away.

He said, “We shouldn’t—”

“Louder, Jack,” Dean said. “I don’t care about Marylou, but I want to hear everything you say.”

“Play along,” I whispered, sliding my leg over his.

By this point I was half on top of him, my arms around his neck. I straddled his legs—that was the easy part. We both realized at the same time that I was also straddling his hand, which had been in his lap. He went into full mannequin mode.

I pulled his errant arm out from under me and put it over my shoulder, like he was hugging me. “Let’s sit close so I can stay warm.”

That was a euphemism for me puddling on his thighs, ultimately sinking my crotch onto his lap. To anybody driving past, it would look like we were fucking.

Dean texted again, and I read it behind Jack’s head.

U amazing whore! Pussy to crotch in under three minutes.

I answered, I’m only getting $20, have to move fast.

Maybe he’ll tip you. So how do you like him so far?

I didn’t know what Dean was playing at, but I knew I couldn’t lie. I’m a little turned on. What about you?

I’m jerking off as I drive.

I laughed at that and then realized he probably wasn’t kidding.

I sat back so Jack could take all me in. My hands were on his shoulders, fingernails stroking his neck. I shamelessly used my elbows to press my breasts together. They nearly swelled out of the breast cups at the top of my dress. Just as he noticed them, my spaghetti straps slid helpfully down my elbows.

Jack stared into my cleavage like it had subtitles.

Despite everything, I felt remarkably at peace.

This was what Dean wanted me to do. I finally had a good excuse. I was part terrified, part horrified, part electrified. Jack felt the same way, because his dick was as hard and badly-placed as the cross-bar on a men’s bicycle. The totally unhip corduroy of his pants grated against me.