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Wilson dried his hair with a towel and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. It was Sunday afternoon and wasn't one of Richie's scheduled practices. Wilson liked to come and work on his swimming by himself a lot; it helped him work things out in his head. His life wasn't all that eventful, and except for school stuff he was pretty stress-free, but there were still minor bumps and bruises along the way.
He was just about to leave when he heard voices in coming from the back of the locker room. Normally, he wouldn't have thought anything of it, but one of the voices was a girl's. This was the boy's locker room- heck, this was a boy's school! Who had brought a girl into the locker room? Wilson decided to curb his curiosity and not peek around the wall that held the other part of the locker room. They probably weren't doing something he needed to walk in on.
Just when he was about to leave, he heard someone yelling- Richie. Was he in there with Becca? He waited for her to say something. She didn't for a while, he just kept yelling. When she yelled for him to get off of her, though, Wilson was sure that it was her. All of those phone conversations had trained him in the art of determining Becca's voice.
"Get off Richie!"
Against his better judgment, Wilson charged into the back of the locker room. He had this feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him that if he wasn't going to stop whatever was going on back there, then no one would. When he appeared, they both stopped moving and froze. Wilson wasn't sure what he was seeing. Richie had his hands clenched tightly around Becca's wrists.
"What's going on?" Wilson said.
"Nothing, we were just talking. You know, like you two do. Bye Wilson."
Becca tried to break free of Richie's grasp, but she was having a difficult time. She didn't seem too scared, so Wilson wasn't concerned.
"Um, maybe you want to let her go," Wilson said.
"I don't have to let her go. Don't you know she likes it rough?"
"Let go of me Richie!" Becca finally screamed.
"No. You're my girlfriend. I can do what I want with you."
"That's ridiculous!" Becca said. Richie failed to listen. "Those are my wrists, not yours."
Wilson knew he had to do something. He stepped in between Richie and Becca, but only with limited success. He refused to let go of her. Wilson didn't want to do it, but he felt physical force might be necessary to maintain Becca's safety. He pushed Richie by the shoulders, but the only thing that accomplished was having Richie pull Becca with him as he stumbled backwards.
"I-I'll hit you. Don't make me do it."
"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try."
Wilson formed a fist and looked around nervously. He had never hit someone before, and he wasn't really sure what to do. But when he saw Richie's knuckles turning white as he clutched Becca against her will, he turned off his brain and swung without thinking. With one hard and fast blow to the head, Wilson had done it. Richie let go of Becca on impact and flung backward. He held his bruised eye and glared at Wilson with his good one.
"Fine, take her. I'm done." Richie grabbed his things and walked out the door.
Wilson and Becca looked at each other. Neither knew what to say. The sexual tension was insurmountable.
"Uh, thanks."
"Oh, it was nothing. Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Now, the question Wilson was really wondering. "Does he do that to you often? Does he, uh, does he hit you?"
"No, never. He'd been threatening me for a while, since he found out we were talking, but that wrist thing was the only time he acted on it. He'd been acting weird lately; I think he was threatened by you. It was funny really."
"OK," he said. "As long as he didn't hurt you or anything."
"No, no."
He smiled and picked his stuff back up. "Wait. Do you think that I'm going to get kicked off the team now?"
"Right before regionals? Never. You're probably the best swimmer in the country your age. Don't worry about that."
"OK." Wilson shifted his weight. "I guess I'm going home now then."
"Do you have a ride?" She raised her eyebrows.
"No, I was walking."
"I can give you a ride; I have my car. It'd be the least I can do." Wilson looked skeptical. "I'm a decent driver, I swear."
"I believe you." It had nothing to do with her driving ability. Wilson just wasn't sure he wanted to be alone in a car with her. He'd heard stories that she was pretty wild, and some of the stuff she alluded to in their conversations was far more than Wilson ever dreamed he was capable of.
She knew he was still not sold on getting a ride from her. "I won't kill you. I promise."
Wilson knew there was no possible way he could say no without being rude. "OK, fine. Thank you."
Becca led Wilson to her car. It was amazing, way too nice of a car for a sixteen year old, much less a sixteen year old girl. He knew that she didn't appreciate it like she should, but he didn't care. What she felt and what she had was no business of his. He was barely friends with her. Becca drove him the two miles back to his house and pulled into his driveway.
"There was no way you could have walked this. It was far."
"It not that far."
She turned in her seat to face him. "Well, you're in good shape. I'm sure you could have done it." Her eyes met his. "Those muscles have to be good for something other than swimming." Wilson blushed and blinked his eyes. "So, uh, can I come in or are you just going to say 'thanks for the ride, have a nice life'?"
"N-no. You can come in if you want."
"I want," she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.
Wilson opened the front door and let her in. He dropped his bag and turned to her, awaiting her reaction.
She sized up the place. "Modest. Cute. What does your dad do?"
"Oh, he's an ophthalmologist."
"So, he's at work then I take it? Doctor's work all the time."
"Yeah. He's not here, won't be until sometime late tonight."
She inched a tiny bit closer to him. "And what about your mom? Does she work?"
Oh boy. "No, she doesn't work. But, uh, she's in Chicago visiting my grandmother. She won't be home for days."
"I see." She smiled seductively. "We're home alone then?"
"I guess so, yeah."
Becca looked around and saw a couch in the living room. She went over there and made herself comfortable. He followed her and laughed at how forward she was. The security of the familiar plush brown couch almost erased how nervous she was making him. Becca moved over so that her leg was brushing Wilson's.
"What you did for me, that was really nice. I want you to know that I appreciate it."
"I know. And it wasn't that big of a deal. You don't have to keep thanking me."
"I feel like I have to," she admitted. "You're such a nice guy. I'm not used to even talking to nice guys. Girls like me don't get guys like you." Her face went closer to his. "But when we do, we usually corrupt them."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, breathless.
"Yeah," she whispered back. Her faced went closer and closer until her lips touched his and she kissed him. The kiss was light at first but she quickly deepened it, pressing harder against his lips. Wilson started out timid but his strength was growing exponentially. His hands went to her face and held her to him gently in a firm manner.
Becca parted her lips and allowed Wilson's tongue to enter. A minute later, before Wilson really grasped the full, or even partial, gravity as to what was happening, his hands started to go under her shirt. He pulled off her shirt and, not to be outdone, Becca pulled off his. She ran her fingers down his muscular torso- the one she could only look at but not touch at all those swim meets she attended. There was nothing like a swimmer's body. Wilson lowered her down onto the couch and laid on top of her. He kissed his way down her cheek, down her neck, and along her collarbone.
Becca moaned and pulled him up closer so that she could nibble on his ear. From her experience, guys loved that. The contact of their skin put them both on sensory overload, but they were miles away from having no clothes on at all. Becca undid his pants and Wilson kicked them off his ankles, leaving him only in his boxers. As he inched closer to her cleavage with his lips, Wilson unhooked Becca's bra with only a slight amount of her help.
Wilson didn't look into her eyes the entire time. Sure, he looked at her, but there was a minimal amount of connection at best. When they both laid on the low-pile white carpeting afterwards, with Wilson's hand snaked around Becca's trim waist, they knew it was more about the hormonal charge they got out of it rather than the spiritual connection. Becca was able to get in a ten minute nap – she was exhausted from doing most of the work- but Wilson was too wired to even contemplate sleep.
"So, am I good or am I good?" she said after forty-five minutes of dead silence.
"You're good." He kissed her shoulder. "Very good."
She nodded and waited a moment before posing her next question. "Wilson, was that your first time?"
His whole body turned red from embarrassment. "Yeah. Could you tell?"
"Not really. I just had a hunch, that's all."
"Was I any good?" Being a guy, this was important to him, especially since he was just with a girl who he believed had had multiple partners.
She laughed. "You weren't bad."
"What's so funny?"
She rolled out of his grasp and sat up, reaching for her clothes. "Nothing. It's just guys don't usually come right out and ask me. At least not that soon anyways."
"Yeah, but I'm special."
She finished putting on her clothes and stood up. "Yes you are." Becca bent down and kissed the top of Wilson's head. "Bye." And with that she walked out of the house just as quickly as the whole thing had happened.
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A/N: Yeah, so this was a new thing for me, writing out about a quarter of a sex scene. I hope it didn't turn out totally awful. …I don't remember if there are any more after this. I think there is one like this, but that's it. The rest is alluded to. OK, well enough of this. I just hope this whole chapter wasn't weird; that it wasn't one of those things that make sense to me but not to anyone else.
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Rawr! Getting feisty, aren't we? Review.
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