JACKSON
"Baby, you don't have to do this."
I place a hand on her arm, fingers circling her thin wrist, but she shakes me off. That act alone stabs me in the gut - I'm not used to being rejected by her and I don't like it.
"I don't want to be called 'baby' right now," she says, cheeks bulging with the tension of her jaw. "I want to go get my hair cut and get the hair off my legs." She looks around - at first warily, then frantically. Tears pool in her eyes but don't fall over. "Everyone is looking at me."
I glance around, but I don't see a single person's eyes on either of us. "No, they're not," I say.
"I'm not like other girls, Jackson," she says, rubbing her arms anxiously.
"That's a good thing," I insist, voice emphatic, because I truly do believe it. Of course, I noticed she doesn't shave her legs. That kind of thing sticks out. But just because I noticed doesn't mean I want her to change. How would she have known differently? I bet she's never even seen a razor before.
"That's easy for you to say when you're not the one feeling ostracized," she says. "I already stick out like a sore thumb because I don't know a thing about the real world. That feels bad enough. This makes me feel…" She shakes her head, warding off tears. "Can we please just go?"
I have no choice but to oblige. I can't help but wonder what my mother will think - and, more importantly, what hers will.
"Sure," I say, with a sigh.
"I know you don't understand," she says, matching my stride as we head towards town. "I just can't help-"
"You don't need to explain," I say, which is true. It's not that I don't get it, it's that I wish Burke hadn't brought it up. April was so untouched by the outside world, so pure. It's not like I think this will taint her in some convoluted way, but it was refreshing to be around someone so unaffected by everything. Who gives a fuck if her hair is long and unstyled and she doesn't shave her legs? It doesn't matter. I loved that it didn't matter. But now, I'm no one to tell her that it can't matter.
We don't talk on the way there. I want to voice what I'm thinking without seeming like I'm trying to change her mind, but I don't know how to make that happen. So, instead, I stay quiet. It's her body. She can do whatever she wants with it.
Once we arrive, I put my hand on the glass door and stop her from entering.
"What will your mom say?" I ask, pointedly.
She tucks her hair behind her ears - her wispy, flyaway, hair - and looks at me with a guarded expression. "I don't know," she says. "I don't wanna think about it right now."
"Don't you think you kinda… should?" I say.
"I just want to get it over with," she says, pushing my hand out of the way to open the door.
I'm taken aback; it's the first forceful act I've never seen her do. I let out a soft breath and follow her inside, met by the smell of expensive products she's never seen or heard of before.
Before anyone can even greet her, April, in her socially awkward glory, blurts out, "Hi. I need someone to cut my hair."
…
I sit beside her in a vacant spinning chair while the stylist goes to work. April couldn't specify much, she has no idea about cuts and trends, but she gave the girl a general length and told her to run with it. The stylist said she was going to put in soft layers and a face frame, and take off about eight inches, leaving the ends just past her shoulders. April was all for it.
"Can you take the hair off my legs, too?" she asks, as the stylist combs her wet bangs forward to trim them.
"We offer waxing services, yes," she says. "Legs, face, armpits, and the bikini area."
"Kitty," I say, a bit disturbed at the idea. Waxing would scare the shit out of her. I've heard it hurts like a bitch. "You can shave at home.
She widens her eyes and mouths what she says next, not wanting the woman to hear. I don't know how.
"I'll help you," I say, then run my fingers over my facial hair. "I'm a pro."
She concedes, luckily, and sits quietly as the beautician works. It takes a good chunk of time, and a lot of hair comes off. I can't help but stare while it creates a fiery pile on the floor around our feet.
After it's over, her hair blow-dries curly. Curlier than it's ever been, and I have to admit, it's gorgeous. There's a new shine to it, and it looks healthier than ever. It bounces when she walks, and her smile lights up the room when she looks in the mirror.
"It looks…" she says, fluffing the ends. "Wow! I can't believe… it's so short! But I love it. Really, I love it. Thank you."
We head to the counter as April goes for the door. "Excuse me, miss?" her stylist says. "That'll be $65."
April stops in her tracks, dumbfounded. She gapes - mouth hanging open, eyes frantic - as she realizes this costs money.
"I-I…" she stammers, but I don't let her get any further.
"No prob," I say, then slide my card across the counter.
"Jackson," April hisses, yanking my arm.
"It's all good," I assure her, then thank the woman when she hands the card back.
We walk out of the salon and April swishes her hair as she turns to look at me. "You did not have to pay," she says.
"I wanted to," I say. "Plus, there wasn't really another option."
"I would've figured something out," she says, then sighs. "You didn't even want me to cut my hair, and I made you pay for it. I feel bad."
"Stop," I say. "One, you didn't make me do anything. Two, what matters is that you wanted to cut it. It's your hair. It doesn't matter what I think."
She gives me a strange, confused look, like she's trying to figure me out.
"What?" I say.
She realizes she's staring and breaks away, eyes forward again. I look at her shoulders, which I now have a great view of - all freckled and on their way to being sunkissed.
"Just not used to hearing that, I guess," she says. "What someone else thinks always seems to be more important than what I think."
I smirk to myself, albeit sadly. I can't imagine living like that. I swing an arm around her and pull her close, stomach jumping when she looks at me with a warm, sweet expression. I don't need to respond with words. The feelings passed between us are enough.
…
"What if you cut me?" April asks, from the lip of the tub. "That looks sharp."
"It is sharp," I say, running the faucet as I wait for the water to get warm. She's sitting across from me, skinny legs bare, wearing only a pair of underwear and a t-shirt. "That's the point. But I won't cut you."
"But what if you do."
"Have you ever seen a nick on my face? Ever?"
"Yeah, but this isn't a face. These are legs. Totally different. You could cut me."
"If I cut you," I say, leaning forward with a hand braced on either of her shins. "We'll call an ambulance and rush you to the hospital on a stretcher and they'll put you in the ICU. Happy?"
She giggles, eyes twinkling. "Good plan," she says.
I shake my head lightheartedly and lather my hands with shaving lotion we picked up before coming home. I wet her right leg first and run my hands from the ankle to just above the knee, watching myself work. She's watching me, too - I feel her eyes.
Once she's all sudsy, I wet the razor and start my task. I drag the razor over small areas so the hair doesn't get caught and tangled, and she stays completely still. I can't help but be amused that she's so worried I'll slice her.
I'm about halfway to the knee when I start talking again. "You're seriously not worried about what your mom will say?" I ask, testing the waters. I bang the razor on the side of the tub and keep a steady hand on her dry leg - for comfort, mostly. Comfort for both of us.
She bites the inside of her lip and sighs, turning over the answer in her mind. "Yes," she says, touching a bit of the shaving cream with the pad of her pointer finger and swirling it in a circle. "I am. I'm very worried, actually."
I don't ask the questions on the tip of my tongue, because I have to give her the time and space to get there. She takes a while, head tipped back, pretty throat open, while I keep at her legs.
"But…" she sighs, still struggling. "You know how my sisters, Libby and Kimmie, you know how they call me 'Duckie?'"
I nod. I have heard them say that.
"That's short for 'ugly duckling,'" she says, trouble swimming in her eyes. "I've had that nickname my whole life, at least as long as I can remember. I've always been the unfortunate one, but I've never really cared much. We're taught that modesty is important, one of the most important things. And on the farm, who really cares? You know. I had no reason to care until…" She clears her throat. "Until you."
I'm not sure how to feel about that. Honored? Guilty? A mixture of both?
"I realized I didn't need to care," she says. "You've never made me feel bad about myself. You don't make me feel weird. It wasn't 'til coming here that I figured out I was different. Around all these other girls who know so much, who're so poised and perfect and beautiful… and I'm just me."
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds a hand up. I don't make a sound.
"I felt ugly. They've always called me ugly on the farm, but I never felt it. The word didn't hold any weight. But here, no one had to tell me. I stuck out enough. And now…" The expression on her face lifts, she seems to grow lighter when she touches her hair and runs her fingers through the fluffy curls. "Jackson, for the first time in my entire life, I feel pretty."
I smile. It starts out as a tiny grin, but soon morphs to take over my whole face. She feels pretty. She feels what she actually is, on the inside and out. I don't have another word to say in refuting her transformation. The way she feels is all that matters.
"Good," I say, wrapping both hands around one of her ankles and leaning forward to kiss her kneecap. I've already shaved it, but there's still some residue of the cream and it gets stuck to my lips when I pull away.
"You've got…" she says, giggling, and doesn't finish her sentence.
Instead, she cups my face and brings it to hers, pressing our lips together and subsequently getting the shaving cream on her skin, too. We're both laughing when it's over.
"This tastes horrible," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a luminous smile on her face.
I don't have a response. It does taste horrible - brash, chemical and tangy on my tongue - but the taste of her mouth overpowers it. Sweetness, purity, and light - she outshines any bad taste I've ever known.
…
Once we're done in the bathroom, April can't stop touching her legs. I used some of my mom's lotion on them, and she's absolutely enamored with the way they feel. While my mom turns on the grill for burgers, April is still trailing her fingertips across her thighs, down to her calves and ankles, enthralled.
"So, April," Mom says, looking over her shoulder where my girlfriend sits. I smile to myself as I think the world 'girlfriend.' I've gotten used to it so fast. It's wild to think that we haven't known each other for that long, because judging by the way I feel about her, it seems like I've known her for years. We just fit. "How do you like being away from the farm?"
I stand next to my mom and set the meat on the grill. We work well together. We've been grill partners for my whole life.
"It's so…" April begins, then leans back in the metal chair and crosses those thin, pretty legs. "Big." She says the last word with a soft, airy giggle.
"It sure is," Mom says, smiling too. She's captivated by April just like I am, I can tell. It's all in the way she looks at her. Like she sees more than what's on the surface, much more. Like I can. Me and my mom have more in common than I'd like to admit. "Very big. Your haircut is lovely, by the way. Was that your idea?" She addresses the question at me.
I shake my head, and April pipes up. "It was mine," she says. "Thank you."
I know my mom is dying to ask the question I've already posed: what will Karen think? She doesn't pry, though. She lets April get there on her own. That's how Mom works.
"Jackson helped shave my legs, too," she says, still touching them. I watch her hands and hope to god she'll let me substitute them with my own later. I've been dying to touch her like we did at the farm. It's funny that she risked life and limb to be intimate with me there, but initiated nothing last night. I didn't push, of course. But I had wanted to fool around a little bit.
"That was nice," Mom says, glancing at me with a glint in her eye. "I hope he didn't cut you."
"He didn't," April says. "Not once."
There's a pause then, filled only with the sizzle of the burgers. April sits pensive and quiet, and Mom waits for her to speak. I know the expectant quiet better than anyone else. She always gets what she wants out of it, too. It's not malicious, but it is effective.
"I almost don't want to go back," April says, fulfilling the space she was meant to. "I mean, just not yet." She adds the last part almost guiltily.
"No?" Mom says, encouragingly.
April sighs. "It's just so nice here. So relaxing. I don't have anything to worry about. No mom, no sisters, no animals or school. No…"
Matthew. That's what she's looking for next - no Matthew. But she doesn't fill in the gap.
"That's exactly how I feel when I come out here, too," Mom says. "But it must be tenfold for you."
"Yeah," April says, then shifts to rest her elbows on the table. She stares at her hands and picks at her bare nails, getting lost in her mind. There's so much that's begging to be said; she's practically bursting with words. I silently beg her to set them free.
"Does it scare you?" Mom asks.
April looks up almost as if she's startled by the question. Her eyes are wide and wondering, eyebrows raised with expectation. "A little," she finally admits.
"I can only imagine," Mom says. "When you've been plucked out of such a small world and thrown into one so much bigger."
"And this isn't even as big as it gets," I throw in. "You should see the city."
"One step at a time," Mom says, elbowing me gently. "This is enough culture shock." She directs her attention back to April, who's gotten lost in her thoughts again. "Is this the first time you've left Otsego?" she asks.
April nods slowly, blinking at the same rate.
"Have you ever wanted to go somewhere?" Mom presses. "Leave, for a while? Just to get away?"
April takes in a long breath, then lets it out with care. "I…" she begins, then her features crumple. "No. Not really. I… that's not what we've been taught. To be adventurous, nothing like that. Being at home is more important. Being around family, people we know. Being close to church, close to God."
"God," Mom muses. "He is very important to your family."
"Yes," April says, and her voice goes thin. I know what she must be thinking. He is supposedly supposed to be closest to her, yet she's betraying Him by almost every action she's carried out in the past month. It must be pretty fucking confusing.
"You've been religious your whole life, is that right?"
"Yes," she answers. "Religion is worked into our school lessons, and we go to church at least twice a week. I also go to youth group. It's where my…" She clears her throat. "My friends are."
"Were you ever given the option of public school?"
"No," she says. "I wouldn't want that, anyway. I wouldn't fit in."
"Don't sell yourself short," Mom says instantly. I'm glad for it. She's right. "You'd do perfectly fine. You're a smart girl, April. Very smart."
April smiles bashfully and shakes her head, blush blooming. "You can't know that," she mutters. "I'm no smarter than anyone else."
"You're wrong," Mom says, turning around to look at her with purpose. "It's not something I need to see proof of with schoolwork or speaking. It's something I see when I look into your eyes. Those pretty hazel eyes of yours… my dear, they tell me everything I need to know." There's a moment of pause where my mother and girlfriend look meaningfully at each other, and I wonder what they're thinking. "And they're telling me that you are far from being your mother's daughter."
This troubles April, I see the disturbance pass over her face. She isn't sure how to react, how to respond. She isn't used to being put on the spot, nor does she know how to take the statement. I'm not, either. Was it a compliment? A diss? Sometimes my mom can be so vague and cryptic. You don't really understand what she's saying until you're meant to. She works in fucking odd ways.
"Of course I am," she says. "I have her hair, and my daddy's eyes. That's what everyone always says."
"No, no," Mom says. "You're missing the point. Of course, you're their child by blood. And blood is a powerful thing, but it can't overpower what's in your soul."
"I'm not sure I follow," April says, gone meek again.
"You're different from your mother," Mom says. "You don't hide from the world. It's what you've been taught to do, and of course it would take time to grow out of it. But it's not your natural state. You're curious. You challenge ideas. You make things your own. You see people, and people see you. You're a radiant presence in the room, sweetheart. That isn't something they cultivated for you. You grew it yourself; you were damn well born with it. And I see it. Your mama sees it, too, I have no doubt. And I have no doubt that by suffocating you, she's trying to protect you from the very thing that makes you special."
April's brow furrows. "Why would she do that?"
My mom sighs, and lines appear on her forehead. She's probably wondering how much further she should take this. I silently beg her to keep talking - she already dug the hole. Now, she has to see us to the other side.
"She thinks it'll get you hurt," she says. "People will see that light shining in you and want to take it."
"Why would someone do that?" April asks.
"People can be cruel," Mom says. "There's truth in that. Your mother is scared of the world and the cruelty inside it, having suffered at its hand herself. She has every right to feel the way she does. But she doesn't have the right to keep you from living a beautiful life. She has no right to keep you chained to that farm, locked away from possibilities you could never imagine."
April stops listening for the latter half of the statement. She hangs onto one thing and one thing only, and I know because I do, too.
"What happened to my mom?" she asks, curious and nervous.
The burgers are ready now. We take pause in the conversation to gather plates and bring them to the table, along with fruit salad and iced tea. It's a perfect dinner just as the sun sets, and I'm hungry. Me and April have eaten like shit all day.
"I know you probably don't want to tell me," April says, her voice having reached a level of desperation. "But, please. I know next to nothing about her. If I knew… maybe it would help me understand her better."
Mom weighs the options in her head as we take the first bite. After she chews, she takes a sip of tea and sits forward, ready to spill.
"Your mother and I met in Chicago," she says. "During college. We went to the University of Chicago, which is very large and very esteemed. We were best friends."
"You were?" April says, baffled. I feel the same, but I don't want to interrupt.
"Yes. We were inseparable," Mom says. "We were pretty opposite from one another, but we got on. She was religious then, too - not as much, but a decent amount - and I wasn't. I had an interest and appreciation for it, though. So, I'd go to service with her sometimes. I liked going and she liked taking me. Life was great. That is, until the fall of our junior year. I was supposed to meet her after church - I couldn't go that night because I'd been studying - and we were supposed to go to the diner nearby to catch up. But she never showed."
I'm hanging on my mother's every word, and so is April. If I'm this interested, I can't imagine how she must be feeling.
"I wore myself out looking for her. I was stupid not to call the police right away, but you don't really think things through when something like that happens. You don't think it could have been something bad or terrible. She probably just took a nap and slept too long. Why would I call the police over a missed alarm clock? I felt silly for even considering it. But, after finding out what happened, I realized I shouldn't have felt that way."
"What happened?" April asks. Her eyes are glassy, glistening with tears. She's afraid - feeling the fear for her mother all those years ago. "What happened to her?"
My mom inhales deeply and puts her burger down, addressing the situation as it should be addressed. "Honey, people don't always have the purest intentions," she begins. April hangs onto every last word she says. "That night, your mother was beaten and raped in a tunnel between the church and our dorms. I won't go into the details, you-"
"What does that mean?" April asks. "What does 'raped' mean?"
I saw that coming, but Mom didn't. Her face falls. By the look in her eyes, I think she's realizing just how sheltered Karen has kept her daughters. Now, for me, the pieces fall into place as to why.
"When two people want to have sex with each other, that's called 'consensual sex,'" Mom begins. "When one party doesn't want it, that's not consent. That's called rape."
"So…" April says, wavering. "Someone forced sex on my mom."
"Yes," my mother continues.
April sits with the information for a moment and lets it stew. "She hasn't been the same since," she mutters.
My mom shakes her head solemnly. I chew on a pickle as quietly as I can.
"Is that why she's so scared to let me out?" she asks. "Let us out? Me and my sisters?"
Mom nods. "After it happened, she dropped out of school. She'd been an English major. She loved to read and write, poems were her specialty. She wanted to be published someday. But she couldn't focus on school anymore. Around every corner, she was sure someone would be there, coming to get her. I suggested therapy; I'd heard it could help. Now, I know for sure it could have. But she wouldn't listen. She decided to take a year off, go home to Michigan and turn to the church." She sighs. "She never came back. I heard, a few years later, that she got married to your father and I was happy for her then."
"My daddy's a good man," April says firmly. "He would never let anything like that happen again. He's good to her."
"I'm sure he is," Mom says, then lets a thick pause fill the air.
April simmers for a moment as well. Her lips are tense, food untouched, hands restful on her lap. She's deep in thought, but the fear of the unknown is gone from her eyes. She looks somewhat settled, while still trying to process everything.
"She thinks something bad will happen to me," April says, looking up. "I don't understand, though. Why would she let me spend so much time with Jackson if she's so scared I'll get hurt?"
Mom shrugs and shakes her head lightly. "My best guess is that it's because she knows me. She knows I raised a good son. She met Jackson when he was very small - you did, too. Neither of you remember, you weren't even three years old. He was a little gentleman, even then. She fell in love with him right away, it was hard not to with those eyes and curls. She's always had a soft spot for him. So, when I needed to get him out of Chicago, she was there to help me."
April folds her hands. I still haven't said a word - I don't think I need to. This isn't my place. I'm here for support and to listen only.
April opens her mouth, eyebrows set firmly. "But I'm not her," she says. Her eyes are strong, but her voice cracks. Her words surprise me - I'd expected her to retreat into her shell after hearing what my mom had to say. That's even what I might do. But she looks ahead with a steady expression - eyes glassy, but jaw clenched. "That won't happen to me."
Mom sighs. It seems like this hour has been full of sighs. "She has trouble separating herself from the four of you," she says. "I know all she's doing is trying to protect you from the evil that still haunts her. But she's going about it in the wrong way."
April's face turns red, subtly at first before flushing a brilliant crimson. "It's not fair," she says. "She never gave us a chance."
"You're right," Mom says. "She hasn't been fair to you. But I thought that I owed you the reason as to why, at least."
April nods tersely. "Thank you," she says, then lifts her gaze. "For telling me more than my mother ever has."
…
That night, the setting sun doesn't cool down the air. April and I sit in the sand, feet in the water, both in swimsuits. Hers is a muted blue with a v-cut chest and a tie around the neck, and I'm in plain black trunks. She's been quiet since dinner, assumedly trying to swallow all she was told. I can't blame her. I would be rattled, too.
She sits with her knees bent, arms behind her, face turned towards the starry sky. Her skin is illuminated - the light from the moon makes the paleness glow. I can't stop looking at her. I want to memorize everything she is.
"You okay?" I ask finally, too much silence having passed. I want to know what's going on inside her head.
She looks at me for a brief moment before turning back to the water. It's calm, with only gentle waves lapping the shore, lapping at our ankles.
"I'm okay," she says, quiet but sure.
"A lot to take in," I say.
She nods, and I watch her cute little stomach rise and fall with the slowness of her breath.
"Did it scare you?" I ask.
She takes a second before answering. "No," she says. "It made me feel bad, more than anything. Sorry for my mom. What she went through was so scary. But she's bottling it up. That's what she's taught us to do, too."
"Yeah."
"I really don't want to do it anymore, though," she admits, almost as if she's coming to the realization right then. She sits up and hugs her knees, toes digging into the dark, wet sand. "I don't want to hide my feelings," she says, and turns to look right in my eyes.
"You shouldn't," I say.
"I know," she says, then reaches to take my hand. "You make me feel so much, Jackson."
I smirk. "You make me go fucking crazy."
She snorts and squeezes my fingers, then takes a deep breath. She gathers her gumption and crawls over, sand on her knees, and straddles my hips to rest her arms on my shoulders.
"Is this okay?" she asks.
"Of course it is," I answer, winding my arms around the small of her back. "It always is."
She angles her head, nearing it to mine, and opens her mouth to kiss me. I lower my hands and knead her ass as my tongue touches hers, and she whimpers softly - the sound disappearing between my lips to slip down my throat, where it'll stay forever.
Moving her arms off my shoulders, she winds them around my neck to pull me closer. Her breath is hot and tepid on my skin when she comes up for air, but we don't spend much time apart. I dig my fingers into the pliable skin of her ass, urging her closer, and her hips jerk against my torso of their own volition.
"Sorry," she breathes, and I cup her face with my palms and shake my head with a smile.
I run my hands up her back, over the dip of her spine and the sharp angle of her shoulder blades, up to the tie on her neck. I trace the bow and her breath catches as she places her weight in my lap completely.
I move my hands away. That reaction wasn't exactly giving me the go-ahead, so I decide pulling back is the best option. I don't want to rush her. Even though we've already moved past this stage, something about being at the lake house and away from the farm feels different. Like what we're doing is more real somehow.
I move my grip back to her sides, squeezing her small waist between my hands, and roll us onto the sand with her body under mine. As she catches her breath, her collar bones stand out prominently against her alabaster skin, and she waits for what I'll do next. Honestly, I'm not sure what that is, either. I'm walking on eggshells with what I can and can't do to her.
"Jackson," she whispers, hugging my waist with her thighs.
"Yeah," I respond, one hand on her belly that's gone concave with the way she's lying. I rub my thumb over the sheeny material of her swimsuit, wondering what she'll say.
"I have… that feeling," she says, and as her hips squirm I know what she means. That feeling. Of course she does. I do, too. I'm almost fully hard, but I didn't want to pressure her into making something come of it. Right now, she calls the shots. And that's fine - I just have to get used to it.
"Oh," I say.
She clears her throat and looks at me, hands on my shoulders, fingers dancing over my balmy skin. "I…" she begins, then looks away. She huffs out a short breath, then brings her eyes back. "We're away from the farm. I don't know when… we might not get… we have the chance right now."
We lock eyes, and I wonder if she's saying what it sounds like she is. I furrow my eyebrows a bit, not wanting to assume. There's a blank space I'm sure she wants me to fill, but I won't. I need her to do it.
"April, what are you trying to say?" I ask.
A wave of thoughts washes over her face - ones I try to follow, but they're swept back to sea too quickly.
"If-if you want," she says, stammering a bit. "If you want to, I want to have sex. With you. Here."
I try to keep my smile at bay, try to keep myself under control. Keep calm; don't scare her off.
"Here?" I joke. "You might get sand in places you definitely don't want it."
She smacks my chest, mouth screwed up in a smile she tries to fight. "Stop," she says. "Don't make me feel stupid."
"I'm fucking with you," I say, tucking my face into her neck to drop a few sweet kisses. "Of course I wanna have sex with you."
"You do?" she asks.
"Yes, kitty," I say, smiling.
She grins, too - incredulously, like she can't believe it's really happening. In all honesty, I can't either. I knew I wanted to sleep with her the moment I saw her, but I never thought it would actually happen. There was no way it could under the thumb of her family at the farm. But she said it herself - we're away, and this might be our last chance for a while. I refuse to entertain the thought that it'll be our only chance.
"We should go inside," I say. "Like I said, the sand…"
"Right," she says, and scrambles out from underneath me. She adjusts her swimsuit as she stands and I watch her, eyes glinting, as she walks lightly on her feet back towards the house.
I sigh with relief that my mom is in the basement - that way, she can't call us out when she sees us heading upstairs.
Just as we come to my bedroom, April stops and leans toward the bathroom, stopping to stutter-step awkwardly between the two rooms.
"What're you doing?" I ask.
"I… I was going to take a shower," she says.
"You took one earlier today," I say.
"I know," she says, voice soft. "I just don't wanna be… you know."
"Baby, you don't need a shower," I say. "Come here. I just… I just want you."
"You want me?" she asks, eyes shimmering.
"Yes, holy fuck," I say, chuckling as I wrap my arms around her and lead her into the bedroom.
"You can't wait anymore?" she teases.
"Not another fuckin' second," I say, playfully growling into her bouncy curls. "I wanna get you naked so bad."
"Jackson..." she titters, throwing her head back as she giggles.
I shut and lock the door, and she sits on the bed to fiddle with the tie behind her neck. She stares ahead with a concentrated expression, and once it comes undone, she holds the front of the suit in place.
"I can't believe we're gonna do this," she says, amused.
"Do you still want to?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, then lays back with the fabric still covering her. "Do we take our clothes off now?"
"We can," I say. "We can do whatever we want. There's no rules. Just whatever makes you feel good, kitty."
"And you, too," she says.
"Mmm…" I say, climbing to straddle her hips. "I'm more worried about you right now."
She licks her bottom lip and folds down the swimsuit on her chest, wriggling out of it until it's past her ankles and on the floor. Suddenly, she's stark naked beneath me and my boner has made itself pretty damn obvious. She's perfect - her body lithe and fragile, but strong with muscles from the farm underneath. She's exquisite.
"Stop," she says. "You're staring."
"I'm allowed to stare," I say, peppering kisses along her jawline. "My girlfriend is beautiful. Why shouldn't I stare at her?"
"Jackson," she says, hands flat on my chest while rolling her eyes.
"You said it yourself earlier," I say. "You feel pretty. Let me say it, then. You're more than pretty. You're fuckin'... you're the most gorgeous, stunning, perfect-"
"Stop, stop, stop," she says, hands on my neck. "Just kiss me."
I don't fight her on that. I cradle her delicate face in my hands and kiss her with all I've got; I try and put everything I'm feeling into the way my lips move over hers. She sighs into my mouth, whines when it feels good, then takes one hand and moves it to her chest.
I kiss her harder as I palm her breast. It's small and fits perfectly in my fingers, the nipple already straining. I move away from her face, down her throat, and stop when I reach the puckered bud on the right. It's practically begging for my mouth, so I don't wait.
My tongue laves over the bumps risen on the skin surrounding, and I graze my teeth over the place in the middle. She gasps, clutches at my ears, and rolls onto her side - forcing me onto mine, too.
With my hands spread wide on the small of her back, I bury my face between her small, round breasts. When I pull away, I notice my stubble has caused a red irritation to bloom, but I pay it no mind. I want to mark her tonight. I want to make her mine - even more than she already is. I want her to know it. I want everyone to know it.
I nibble her skin softly, pushing one hip so she falls on her back again. I create a light path of bite-marks down her belly, through the peach fuzz, and down to the bumps of her hip bones. Glancing between her legs, I'm so glad she didn't want to shave there. Natural looks best on her. I can't imagine it any other way.
"Can I eat you out?" I ask, gently easing apart her thighs.
She tosses her head back on the pillow, then looks down from where she lies - wide open and vulnerable. "You can do anything to me," she breathes, and my dick twitches. Holy fuck, this girl.
I run my hands up her stomach to squeeze her breasts softly, then breathe hot air between her legs with an open mouth. I make sure the breath comes softly, just enough to tease her, and she twitches because of it. She inches her legs apart further and angles her hips up, tempting me, and I run my thumb over her glistening curls and kiss her core softly.
I push her legs up by the backs of her thighs, raising her knees above my head to go down on her that way. She whimpers and cries, her body trembles under me, but I don't stop. I don't give her any time to catch her breath. I open my mouth and push her legs so the knees bend, then spread them once she gets close.
"You like that, kitty?" I rasp, kissing her outer lips. She's slick and shining with arousal, and her chest is flushed. It matches the crimson hue of her face.
She nods fervently, glancing between my face and her throbbing core. "More," she says. "Please."
"Mmm… fuck," I grunt, then go in with the goal of making her come harder than she has yet. I keep edging her - teasing her close to climax before easing her away, and the sounds she makes reward me for it.
I separate her folds with two fingers so I can go as deep as possible with my tongue, and close my eyes while shaking my head back and forth. She shrieks with surprise and pleasure, body jolting, as I hum against her and make her body vibrate in response.
She's sweating and panting, arms thrown above her head and knees spread wide on the mattress. I fit perfectly between them - and if it were up to me, I'd never leave. I want to stay right where I am for the rest of my life.
"Jackson," she says, uttering my name and calling me back to reality. "I keep feeling… I'm getting so close… I want it..."
She wants it.
"Anything for you, baby," I say, then glide two fingers in and stroke her g-spot torturously slow while my tongue is wrapped around her clit.
She screams at the top of her lungs when it happens, totally out of control. Her hips slam against my face, her shoulders lift from the bed, and her body explodes in a spree of tremors. She grabs my head with fierce strength, nails digging into my scalp, and clenches her thighs around my ears as an evidently powerful orgasm rips through her body and sends her reeling.
She curls into herself once the big shock has passed, breathing heavily, sides rising and falling rapidly. "Did I hurt you," she pants, grappling for my face to bring me close.
"Never," I say, licking my lips. I hold her face with one hand and tuck the other in the fold of her knee to toss her leg over my waist.
"I've never had one like that before," she whispers, kissing my nose and the corner of my mouth. "It felt so good… so… so crazy good."
"I could tell," I say, finger-brushing her hair back.
"Will it feel like that when you're inside me?" she asks, eyes doe-like once again.
"Um…" I say, trying to figure out a way to word the truth. "Probably not the first time."
Her expression turns confused. She doesn't know what I mean. Why shouldn't it feel as good as what I've been doing to her? Why should she compromise that feeling for something that will only benefit me?
"Girls' bodies are different," I explain. "It'll take some time for you to get used to…" I clear my throat. "Me. You just won't be used to it."
I've never been with a virgin before. I'm not really sure what to expect. But I tell myself that, no matter how good it feels when I'm buried in her, that her feelings come first. If she wants to stop, we stop. Right then.
"Will it hurt?" she asks.
I scratch my cheek, doing away with an invisible itch. "It might at first," I say. "Do you still want to do it?"
She nods without hesitating. "Yeah, I do," she says.
"We can go as slow as you want," I say. "I would never… your first time, it's not going to be crazy. It'll just be soft and gentle, you know."
"You? Soft and gentle?" she says, playing with me.
"It is possible," I say, smirking before stroking her cheekbone and kissing her button nose. After a period of silence has passed, I whisper, "Are you scared, baby girl?"
"No," she whispers, moving her arm to rest on the side of my neck. She inches closer, opening her mouth to breathe against my lips, and I skim one hand over the round of her ass. "It's you. I could never be scared of you."
I kiss her heartily, squeezing her ass and wrinkling my forehead. I take a deep breath through my nose and try to inhale her, and she holds the back of my head to keep me close. When we pull apart, we're both breathless and jumpy, anxious for what's to come.
"I love you," she says. "I'm ready."
I nod surely, then reach over her to slip a hand into the nightstand drawer. I always bring condoms with me, and that's where I chose to store them - not because I assumed we'd have sex, but because it would be convenient if we did. It ended up working out.
She watches while I roll it on, mouth open and heart beating so forcefully that I feel it through her damp skin. She keeps one hand on my chest while I roll her onto her back, and we lock eyes for a long, meaningful moment.
"Yeah?" I make sure, one last time.
"Yes," she says, widening her thighs. I'm hovering right over her, our bodies lined up just right. "Yeah."
I hold my dick and guide it inside her, nudging apart her lips to let the head go first. I can't help but watch it disappear, becoming all the more turned on as it does, and listen to her breathing. When I'm halfway, I do my best not to let the sensation take over.
"You good?" I ask.
She spreads her knees further, welcoming me deeper. "I'm okay," she says.
She's so tight. I knew she would be, and I knew it would be amazing, but I really wasn't prepared for any of this. Her body surrounds me in every sense of the word, and I want nothing more than to lose myself in her. But I promised myself to stay present, so that's what I'll do. I won't let my body take over and my brain shut off. Her first time should be amazing, and I'm determined to make it so.
"Are you in all the way?" she asks, squinting a bit.
I look down. "No," I say, ego boosted because she thought as much. "Do you want me to stop?"
"You're just...big," she sighs, adjusting her hips. "Put it all the way in. I wanna see how it feels."
I do as she says, snapping my hips forward and burying myself to the hilt. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth drops open, floored by how good it feels to have a part of my body planted within hers. She breathes evenly and blinks slow, gently scraping her nails up and down my back while curving her spine to try and get used to the way it feels - the way I feel.
"You okay?" I ask.
"I don't know," she says, then winces. "It hurts a little."
"Do you want me to pull out?" I ask. "Do you wanna stop?"
"No, no," she says, centering herself. "I want this. Jackson, I want this."
I smile, I can't help it. "Okay," I say, then kiss her long and slow.
"Can you… can you start, then?" she asks.
I move my hips slow at first - slow and calculated, each thrust the same measure as the last. I try and keep my sounds at bay, but it's hard with how awesome it feels to be fucking her. There's more than once that my mouth hangs open and some unearthly grunt escapes, giving away how lost I am in the way she feels. The way she makes me feel.
"Do you like it?" she asks.
I nod as best I can, losing myself while trying not to. "You're so fuckin' perfect," I say, flattening my body against hers while relishing the feeling of her naked chest against mine. I love the way her breasts flatten out and the pricks of her nipples drag across my skin subtly. It's all fucking amazing - I don't want to forget a single bit. "Yes. I love it."
She smiles breathily, holding onto my shoulders while I continue to pump my hips into her. She hides her face in my neck and leaves kisses behind, feverishly, like she's in a hurry, though I'm not going fast at all.
"Fuck, I love you," I say, muscles tensing as I inevitably skirt the edge. I had a feeling I wouldn't last long. There was no way, given that it's April. "I love you, kitty."
"I love you," she replies, voice a soft whisper, nearly unintelligible.
"I can't…" I stammer, teeth gritted as I try and slow my roll. I'm going to bust if I'm not careful, and I really wanted her to go first. I don't know how realistic that thought is anymore, though. "I can't last that much longer," I admit. "I'm gonna fuckin' blow my load, you feel so damn good, I can't-"
"Go ahead," she says. "You can."
Encouraged by her words, I go a bit rougher and let my brain shut off for just a moment. I close my eyes and take in the feeling of her hands on my neck, her feet on my calves, and her inner walls fluttering to accommodate me. I take it all in. I think of how in love I am with her, and how she forces me to feel things no one ever has before. I think about how being with her even makes me think differently.
In the moment it happens, though, I'm not thinking at all. My brain has been lit on fire, all the synapses shooting off as the orgasm ripples through my body like a slow-burning ember, sparking at the nerve endings. My pulse hammers through my skin steadily as I let out a series of animalistic sounds, squeezing my eyes shut tight as she grabs my face and kisses me hard.
"You're the perfect one," she whispers, lifting her hips as I ride out the last of it inside her. "You're so, so, so perfect."
I don't have the mental clarity to respond, but I keep kissing her with all my might. I suck on her tongue and pull her bottom lip into my mouth, worrying it with my teeth, and keep a good hold on her even after the muscle spasms have stopped.
I don't say anything for a while; I just keep April in my arms and keep kissing her. She soaks it all in with a blissful expression on her face - eyes closed, lips pulled up in a smile without showing teeth, hands all over me. The moment I stop, though, she opens her eyes and gives me a little pout.
"Don't stop," she says.
I chuckle and continue to kiss all the skin I can reach. I even lift her arm and kiss her armpit, which makes her shriek with laughter and fight to put it back down. Once it's at her side again, she tucks both arms between our chests and nuzzles my nose, ghosting her lips over mine before whispering that she loves me.
I can't help but believe that what I feel for her is more than love. I'm fucking enamored with everything she is and does.
"Baby," I say, rubbing a hand down her side. "You didn't come, did you?"
I'd been so distracted with how mind-blowing my orgasm was, I didn't think twice about hers. I'm a fucking ass.
"Oh," she says, blushing as if we aren't naked wrapped up in each other. "I… was I supposed to?"
Was she supposed to. I can't get enough.
"Yes," I say, caressing her face. "But it's okay that it didn't happen the first time. It'll get better."
"Okay," she says.
"You want me to give you one the old-fashioned way?" I ask, and when she looks at me confusedly I lift up my fingers and wiggle them.
She slaps my arm. "You're foul," she says.
"Is that a yes…?" I ask, kissing her neck as the hand already begins to slide lower.
She widens her thighs and lets out a salacious little sigh when I sink two fingers inside her heat. I push them as deep as the second knuckle, going as far as her moans tell me, and she writhes like she always does as the feeling returns.
She flips onto her side, back against my chest, and I keep my hand where it is. With her ass against my crotch, my dick sits right between her ass cheeks and due to the placement, inevitably starts to get hard all over again. I ignore it, though. Right now isn't the time. It's time to get her off - she deserves it.
She arches her back and forces her ass tighter against me when I rub circles on her clit with my thumb. Slow ones - I drag it out this time - while continuing to pump my fingers. She's already so wet from everything else, and by the way she's stretching and fidgeting, I can tell it feels good. When it feels good, she can't keep still. It's like she's trying to wriggle out of her own body.
When she gets close, she overlaps my hand with both of hers and whimpers loudly, high voice cutting through the darkness of the room as she clamps her thighs shut tight. She traps my hand as it works, thrusting deep while manipulating that little bundle of nerves, and when she comes, she lets me know with a long, pitchy moan.
"Oh, Jackson," she sighs, flipping over once I pull out. She winds her arms and legs around me and rests her head on my chest, content. "Mmm…"
"Yeah?" I say.
She nods slowly, breathing deep. I smile to myself and draw shapes on the round of her shoulder, wondering what happens next. If she's up for it, I'm willing to go again. But by the looks of it, she's tired out. She's already falling asleep.
"I love you," I say, this time so she'll hear.
"I love you, too, Jackson," she murmurs, already most of the way gone. "So much."
…
I lie there with April for a while, soaking up her presence and the smell of sex left over in the room. But I realize, before long, that I'm not tired and sleep won't come anytime soon. I'm too wound up.
All my tossing and turning was disturbing her, so I did my best to slip quietly out of bed and change into sweats. I leave the door open when I head downstairs, so she'll know I left. Interrupting my beeline for the screen door and the shore, though, my mother's voice appears from the couch.
"Son," she says.
I jump and hold my chest, rattled. "Jesus, mom," I say. "You scared the shit out of me."
She laughs softly. "Sorry."
I stop walking and look back at her. She's sitting in the near-darkness with a book open on her lap, but she's staring into space instead of looking at the pages. I can't help but wonder how long she's been there, and how much she heard coming from upstairs.
"You should sit," she says, gesturing towards the free end of the couch.
I don't bother with fighting her. I sit and rest one ankle on the opposite knee, leaned back, body open. Mom takes one look at me and rolls her eyes lightly, shoulders bouncing with laughter.
"What?" I say.
She shakes her head, a good-natured smile on her face. "You're not embarrassed in the slightest, are you?" she asks.
I know exactly what she means. We're good at reading each other's minds. "No," I say. "Why should I be?"
Mom was the one who taught me to be open about sexuality. I haven't let her down yet.
"You shouldn't be," she says, but the smile disappears when she finishes her thought. "But I want to make sure you're being cautious."
"I already told you," I say. "I have condoms. We used one."
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "That's not what I mean," she says. "I mean cautious as in, April isn't like the other girls you've been with. She's different, honey. She's more fragile. She's… unlike anything you or I have ever experienced. She come from a very different life, with very different thought processes."
"I know that," I say, maybe a bit snappily. "And we talked through that before we did it. She wanted to. She-"
"I didn't say anything about consent," she says. "I know you're a good man. But the way she interprets all this might not be exactly what you expect. You need to remember that."
I brush the comment off. She doesn't know April like I do.
"But it is wonderful to see you in love," she adds.
I don't have a response, but it's for a totally different reason. I could talk about sex all day long, but the topics of romance and love make me shy away. I don't know why they're so hard for me to handle - especially with my mom. With April, I could do it. But with her, I could do just about anything. Talking about those things feels off-limits with my mom, though. Like if I talk about mine and April's relationship too much, it could be tainted. That's the last thing I want.
So, I just shrug and say, "Yeah."
"You're different," she muses. "She's changed you."
I can't see it in myself, but I don't doubt she's right. I still don't know what to say, though.
We spent a moment in silence, then she says, "The University of Chicago called again." I grunt in response. "They looked over your transcripts and SAT scores for a second time. They're still very impressed. They wanted to remind you of the scholarship offer and hoped you had an answer for them."
"I already gave an answer," I say, staring at my feet. "I'm not going."
She sighs, long and vehement.
"I said that before I left," I say. "I don't know why you're bringing it back up. It's done, it's over."
"It's not," she says. "If not UC, then where? Northwestern? DePaul? Loyola?"
I shake my head, shoulders growing tense. "No," I say. "Nowhere."
"'Nowhere' isn't an option," she says. "What is your reasoning here, Jackson? Why are you letting your potential go to waste? Can't you see you're making a huge mistake?"
"Whatever," I say, standing. "You only said April's changed me so I would tell you what you wanna hear. I'm not going to college. I don't wanna fuckin' go. I told you that months ago."
"I won't let you go back and roam those streets," she says. "That cannot and will not happen."
"No one said anything about - Jesus Christ," I say, massaging my temples. "I'm going back to bed."
"I'm not done talking about this, young man," she says.
"Yeah, well I am," I say, then stalk off without so much as a glance over my shoulder.
I walk back to my room and gently shut the door, looking at the bed to find April still completely naked - the sheet wrapped around her waist with one leg sticking out - lying on her stomach. I climb in beside her after stripping down to my boxers, and prop myself up on an elbow just to watch her for a moment. I trail my fingers down her spine and flatten my hand on the small of her back, then lean forward and kiss her hair.
She's the one good thing that I've got.