Chrissy knelt before him, eyes pleading and full of his length. At attention before her tiny nose, it bobbed upward toward his lean stomach, blotchy from his blushed skin, the throbbing slit glistening with precum.
Holding eye contact, Eric watched with his breath held as first his swollen head, and then his shaft, disappeared inch by agonizing inch between her naturally red lips. A low, throaty growl dribbled from him as he tossed his head back. A hiss then followed as her throat twitched around him reflexively, beginning to gag around his girth, her teeth grazing him with just enough pressure to drive him wild. The perfect cupids bow arch of her upper lip sealing around his base, he could feel the tip of her nose nuzzle the dark curls at his base, taking him fully and completely into her mouth. Not without some struggling, as drool began to stream down his sack. The sensation had him pulsing angrily in her mouth, hips beginning to move of their own accord in a gentle, if not erratic, rocks against her face.
Unable to take all of him, she started to pull away, but he didn't let her. Large palms cupped the back of her head in a rough manner. Her muffled whimpers serving to knead the cock he forced back down her throat. Fingers knotted in her hair, grunts siphoned from him as easily as curses. His pace sped up in greed for how she gasped around him, choking on his size. She was so tight, and warm. The more she struggled, the more earnest his cock threatened to burst. He wanted to look down at her, to see how sloppy and abused he reduced her to, but his head was forced back. The sharp jut of his Adam's apple bobbing.
"F-fuck, I'm gonna-!"
He didn't get to finish. Moaning so loudly it sounded like he was wounded, he pumped his seed, hot and viscous, down her throat.
Eric's eyes blearily opened, ripped from his fantasy by his radio alarm clock sounding off next to his head. Woken up to the heavy saxophone interlude of Time Passages, he peeled his face from his pillow, having fallen asleep on his stomach. When he shifted his weight, stirring, that's when he noticed it.
His hips laid in a more than damp patch in the sheets. His erection was still going straight, despite the fact that he had just, evidently, humped the mattress to completion in his sleep. The tip of his cock was sticky, pressed against the trail of dark hair leading from his navel. He had taken to sleeping naked since the start of the summer, and no more than ever, he really had a reason to. More than just the heat.
"God...damn it." He groaned, dropping his face back into his pillow. His cock twitched in anticipation, eagerly awaiting the warmth of his hand. Angling his hips up just enough, he grabbed at himself hard. Becoming desensitized to his own touch, he pumped his shaft with brisk yanks. Impatient with his own need.
-
"Well, good morning sweetie! And how are you?"
Eric could hear Kitty's shrill lilting from the kitchen before he made it half way through the living room. Bedraggled and content, as was typical for a lazy Saturday morning in June. The birds were chirping, and the blue sky picturesque above the rows of manicured lawns, glistening and dewy from sprinklers. All was right with his world, or rather, it should have been. Had it not been rocked by one five-foot, ninety pound brunette that always smelled like the beach.
He hadn't seen Chrissy, alone, in over a week. After the incident, he hadn't seen her again until Bob's birthday party. Surrounded by his parents, Donna. Everyone.
He of course had her cake, more than he should have. He couldn't help himself. Because she, of course, was there. Tauntingly within reach and looking like Heaven. In a black party dress with a Daisy Duke tie at her sternum, displaying the pronounced dip of her clavicle, and the ridges of her ribs. Giving him a peek of her tanned abdominals from the open midsection, above the skirt that draped down from her waist, a lengthy slit going up her thigh. When she walked it whipped around her leg, and he could see her anklet, and the little dolphin charm that dangled from the delicate joint. He had to endure looking at her like that, as she laughed and grinned, and dotingly brought beers to Bob and Red, her feathered hair wafting candied coconut. So he stared, hard, from the corner with the others. Chasing the high of their unfinished business by shoveling puffy, spongey lemon cake and baby pink, strawberry lemon buttercream until all that was left was smears of frosting on the plate. And he licked that clean.
The guys just thought he had the munchies.
Full of cake and the Rolling Rock he washed it down with, he stumbled back to his bedroom much later that evening, locking the door behind him. Frosting heavy on his tongue and Chrissy heavy on his mind, he yanked at his engorged cock with furious strokes of his wrist. The wet snapping of sugary saliva on hot, stiff flesh echoed by his huffed pants and groans. He came quickly. Painting his thighs and sheets milky white, he didn't stop. Whining as he stroked himself raw through the lethargic twitches it gave in protest to the overstimulation, dribbling from his tip. Not too long after he was able to bring himself to climax again, almost more painful than it was pleasurable. But that's what it took to quell the ache in his stomach.
It had been nine days since he was alone with Chrissy.
Nine days since he had been dangerously close to making a woman out of her on the checkered linoleum in the Pinciotti's kitchen. Nine days of absolute hell.
Any time opportunity teased him with the possibility of privacy, Donna appeared, seemingly just to insert herself between the two. Or Kelso decided he had another Bond stunt he wanted to try. Or Fez materialized for fear that more sweets were secretly withheld from him.
If he was being completely fair and totally honest with himself, he wasn't trying all that hard either. Something came over him that night in their kitchen, and whatever it was gave him a confidence and prowess that had all since abandoned him the moment they were interrupted. If he had been alone with Chrissy, what would he say? Where would he even begin?
The thought of her firm curves in his palms, the heady aroma of coconut perfuming the air, and her full pout, agape and humming his name, had him weak in the knees. His mind turned thick and cottony whenever he even began to think of her. She clouded his every thought, his every action, the shadow of her presence now a curse instead of a blessing.She made him erratic, and he was twitchy to begin with.
Even trying to relieve himself in the most primal and base of moments, in the early hours of the morning when not even sleep granted him reprieve from the vision of her, he couldn't focus. The moment he was right about to cum, the heat pooling between his hips ready to jet forth in an explosion of agonizing release, his thoughts scrambled and she was somewhere just out of reach. And then he'd lose it. With grit teeth and his hair sticking to his clammy forehead, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, he'd have to start again. Alone in the dark. The tight, white hot coiling deep in his pelvis winding tighter and tighter, aching to spring forward, but needing the exact trigger in order to do so. She teased him in his fantasies, just as she had in reality.
The kitchen greeted him with the smell of bacon and eggs, and a small tower of thick Belgian waffles stacked in the middle of the table. The coffee pot perking, Kitty pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she laid more strips of bacon on a parchment lined baking sheet, the cord keeping her from straying too far from the wall. When she spotted Eric shambling in out of the corner of her eye, her smile grew, her voice raising an octave.
"Oh sure thing, you can just run on over here and use ours, it's no problem." Kitty nodded. "Okay see you soon! Bye-bye now."
The whole situation with Chrissy had him on edge. More irritable, his patience ever thin, it sharpened his snark and saw it wielded with increased frequency. Plopping his dead weight into the chair, he plucked a single waffle from the top and slumped against the back, ripping of a piece with his teeth. His late night tendencies saw him voracious.
"Oh good, honey, you're awake." Kitty busied herself, brushing the strips of bacon with a brown sugar and maple syrup glaze. "After you eat I need you to run upstairs and tidy up your bathroom."
Eyes rolling to the back of his head. Through a mouthful of waffle, he protested. "Mom no one ever uses the upstairs bathroom."
"Chrissy is," She hummed, not lifting her eyes from the try of bacon. "She'll be over soon, so hurry it up."
Back still to his mother, he furrowed his brows, anxiety spurring his heart-beat to quicken. "...Why?"
"The water heater at the Pinciotti's is on the fritz, so she called and asked to come here and use the shower. She'll be here just as soon as she's done from her little run." Kitty laughed. "So, once you finish your waffles I need you to head up there and make it presentable, please."
"Wh-I," Eric panicked, his words stalling, but his tone still dry. "Can't she just rinse off with the hose out back, or something? It's hot enough out."
This got Kitty's attention, eyes squinted in disbelief. "No, we're not going to have her use the garden hose, what's the matter with you? Why don't you like little Chrissy? She's a delightful girl."
Red walked into the kitchen on the heels of her remark. His brows were furrowed in a way that expressed to Eric that even though that was the first time they were seeing each other that morning, he was already irked by his sons presence.
"What's the problem?"
Kitty shook her head, reaching over to hand her husband the steaming mug of coffee that was waiting for him, her other hand still holding the basting brush. "Bob's water heater is broken, so Chrissy called and asked if she could use our shower. Your son wants her to use the hose in the backyard." She scoffed.
Eric swung around in his seat to face them, opening his mouth to clarify, but Red cut in. "Real gentlemanly of you. And look, he's productive too." He glared down at his son from across the kitchen, eyeing the half eaten waffle in his hand. "Really makes a father proud."
"Well you know, I aim to please."
Red blinked, expression unchanging. "We only have the whole damn neighborhood coming over for this barbecue your mother insisted on throwing, but uhh yeah, take your time, son. Far be it from me to cut in on your waffles and o.j."
"Good morning to you to, pop." Red was unamused at the quip. "Dad, relax, it's not even 10:30, we have plenty of time."
"You say that pretty confidently for a guy with a full schedule."
Eric blinked. "I... have a full schedule?"
Red grinned, ever unpleasant and devoid of mirth. "You betch-yer ass. The backyards full of twigs and leaves that need to be swept, not to mention all the weeding. Then aaall the cushions for the patio furniture needs to be brought up from the basement, and cleaned." Red reiterated, "and I mean cleaned."
He could feel the sarcasm rushing in. "Gee, and here I thought I wouldn't have any of my day left."
"Oh, I'm not finished." Red missed it, as per usual. Or he was trying his own hand at it. "While you live in my house, under my roof, your days belong to me. Once you're finished with that I need you to run to the store and pick up the propane for the grill."
"Alright, well, he can get to all of that as soon as he's finished in the bathroom," Kitty waved dismissively, as if adding another chore to the pile was trivial. "Now, I have a load of laundry going, it should be done soon," then, without even thinking about what she was saying, "I'll just have Eric run her up some fresh towels once they're through the dryer."
"I-," Eric paused, letting her request sink in. After a moment, the beginnings of a wry grin on his face, he nodded. "Can do that for you mom, yes."
"Hooooollllddddd it." Red shook his head, slowly, with his signature chagrin. "I don't think so."
"What?" His feigned innocence earned a knowing look from Red. "Oh, come on, dad, do you really think I can't handle running her up some towels? I mean, I know I'm usually pretty uncoordinated but I've done those stairs a time or two."
There was a beat before Red continued. "You think you're real slick, don't you."
Kitty paid no mind to the men. Eric merely sighed, quite used to his fathers blocks.
"And I would've gotten away with it too," he began dryly, "if it wasn't for you meddling, overbearing fathers."
Red stared him down for a moment, a tired smirk on his face. "Hit the bathroom, wiseass."
Before he could retort, the doorbell rang.
"Oh my, that was fast. Isn't she a speedy little thing." Kitty's laughter played referee to Eric and Red's silent stare-down. "Eric, honey, go and make her feel welcome," she waved her hands before grabbing the tray of bacon, beginning to slot it into the oven, "invite her in for breakfast, while she's eating you can ready the bathroom for her."
Eric squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling a long, arduous sigh through his nostrils. After taking a moment to brace himself, he discarded his bitten piece of waffle as he stood from the chair, his appetite vanished. He felt like he was wading through cement, his legs as heavy as his bare feet, as he shuffled them across the kitchen.
Once at the door, he stalled a minute. He knew he looked like a wreck, but there wasn't much time to make himself presentable. With a deep breath and a quick ruffle of his hair to hopefully tame the rogue strands, he opened the door.
And there she was.
Hair thrown up in a chunky, plastic banana clip, her tiny stature glowed in the morning sun. Her face bare of makeup, it softened her look in a feminine way that came naturally to her. He could see the subtle sea of freckles dusting her forehead above her manicured brows, streaking over her delicate nose and cheeks. There were easy to miss, visible only if you knew where to look, with the sun light hitting her face just right.
Standing there on his porch, navy and white terry cloth shorts cinched at her waist and came scandalously short, just covering the bump of her rear. Paired with a coordinating Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt that was obviously too large for her, the frayed bottom was cut to stop short of her waist, flashing him with a sliver of the abs that hypnotized him at Bobs party. The large silver and navy star sat front and center on her chest, drawing the eye to her bust, just as perky, and pokey, as ever.
She's the "nipples-a-pokin' " to Donna's "jugs-a-poppin' "
"Chrissy! H-hi, hey," he grimaced at his cracking voice. He wanted to say more, but after fumbling for a few seconds, all he came up with was another, "hey."
"Hi, Eric." Her soft voice was still a little raspy from sleep, cracking under his name. It made his heart skip a beat. After a beat of silence, he realized she was waiting for him, it was his turn to speak.
"Uh, come-come in, please." He stepped aside for her, his chest yanking inward at her beaming smile. It always found her lips so easy, so effortless.
A million dollar smile.
"Thank you." As she slipped by him, the top of her head passing by under his nose, he was tickled by a scent on her he hadn't smelled before. It was still predominantly coconut, but now with a hint of citrusy-sweet key lime.
A vision flashed of her perched atop the kitchen counter, her bare heels digging into his back as he lapped at the silky insides of her thighs, nose deep in her coconut cream cunt. He wondered if she would be the type to relish a worshipping like that, or if her shyness followed her into the bedroom. He almost preferred the idea of having to force her open for him, prying her trembling thighs apart and descending on her in a starved frenzy of his over-zealous tongue. His spidery fingers leaving a trail of bruises as he clamped them down on her legs, holding her open for him.
He didn't register that she had asked him a question, getting pulled from the day-dream he so dangerously slipped into even in her presence.
"Uhi'm sorry, what?"
She blinked at him. Her eyes, like her voice, lingered with a deep sleep, slightly puffy. Even still, her beauty was striking. "I... asked how your morning was going, how you slept."
While most people shied away from it, he found comfort in small talk. It came more naturally to him than deep conversation, that was for sure.
I haven't had a God damn peaceful nights rest since we picked you up from the airport.
"Oh uh, good, I slept good." He lied, crossing his arms over his chest. "My mornings good, yours?"
"It's good, thanks." She giggled. "It'll be even better once I can take a shower, I'm feelin' kinda grungy after my run."
"Right, I heard the water heaters busted," he nodded, before then squinting his eyes, "you run?"
She went running looking like that? God the...the paperboys on his route right now. And he saw her like this?
"Yeah, every morning, um, around 6:30ish." She stated it like it was no big thing. "If you ever wanna join me..?"
Eric's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but he recovered. Red walked into the living-room from the kitchen behind him, but he didn't notice. "Oh uh, thank you, thank you for the offer but I...yeah no I'm not much of a morning runner, I uh... I like to do my running at night, actually, yeah." He shook his head with assurance, pressing his lips together. He then tried his hand at being playful, flashing a crooked grin. "Yeah I'm just useless before 7 a.m."
Red stood behind him, watching his son flounder with a bored expression. Head cocked to the side, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. "I hate to break it to you Eric, but you're just as useless after 7 a.m." Eric snapped around in mortification.
"Good morning, Mr. Forman." Chrissy regarded him with a soft smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
"Morning sweetie." He then took a step towards Eric, "It's time to leave the girl alone, now. The bathroom isn't gonna clean itself, Prefontaine."
Eric didn't even attempt to rebut. Shaking his head, he moved around Red, choosing to go the long way around to reach the stairs instead of risking passing by Chrissy, and getting too close. He could hear Red lead her to the kitchen.
"C'mon Chrissy, let's get you something to eat if you still have an appetite."
-
Eric preformed the haphazard straightening of the upstairs bathroom he shared with his sister. He couldn't help but grimace with his shame of knowing the shower Chrissy would be using was the very same he had jerked himself off in just the previous night. And countless times prior.
Once finished, he found Chrissy down in his kitchen, sitting in his seat, between his parents. Red actually smiled around her, the ultimate tell that she was indeed something special. That, and also the fact that Red just took kindly to those who made themselves scarce most of the time. Eric supposed it didn't hurt either that she buttered him up from time to time. He wasn't sure if she did it deliberately, or if was simply just her polite, agreeable nature. Regardless, Red was a powerful ally. Something that almost scared Eric away from pursuing her in...some capacity.
Yet every-time he thought about trying to quit her, he could taste strawberry buttercream.
She picked on a strip of maple and brown sugar bacon over coffee. Eric raised a brow. "You drink coffee?"
"Every morning," she giggled, looking up at him as he stayed a safe distance away behind the counter. "since I was twelve."
Raising both brows, he looked at Red. At 18 years old, Eric was now legally allowed to drink beer, but drinking coffee in the Forman residence was still frowned upon, among a slew of other arbitrary rules and regulations Red set in place to fuel his power trip. Red smirked with a shrug of his shoulders. "Must be some bizarre East Coast thing, crazy bastards." With a chuckle, he then cleared his throat, looking at Chrissy. "No offense."
"None taken, we are crazy."
Pursing his lips, Eric reached for the coffee pot. Before he laid a finger on the handle, Red pounced.
"Ah-ah, it's a her thing." He tilted his head towards Chrissy, reiterating, "not a you thing."
Eric shot him a deadpanned look.
Standing up from the table, Chrissy gathered her dirty dish to bring to the sink. "Thank you for the lovely breakfast, Mrs. Forman, and thank you again for letting me use your shower, I really appreciate it."
"Aren't you sweet, it's our pleasure!" Then turning in her seat to address Eric, blissfully ignorant, Kitty instructed, "Don't worry about the dishes you just leave them with me, Eric will show you where the bathroom is."
"No, Eric will not show her where the bathroom is." Red stood from the table, "The backyards waiting, son."
-
With Chrissy disappeared up stairs and Red pulling out of the driveway, Eric hadn't been outside for very long before he was pulled back in. Pulling weeds from the driveway, he could see through the slider door the frantic whirlwind of food prep that was his mother, followed by the timely chime of the dryer, signaling it had finished its load.
Wandering in to see Kitty standing over the trash can and peeling golden potatoes with such a continuous, high speed that her hands almost blurred, she spoke without looking up.
"Eric could you grab me the white vinegar? It's in the pantry on the top shelf, you can't miss it," the pile of naked potatoes to her left began to grow. "I gotta get these chopped and soaking before they cool, otherwise I'll be hearing all night from Gladys how I should have let her make the potato salad instead." Kitty laughed, but it was of vexation. Not that it differed from any of the ones of genuine glee. Without a word Eric brought her the vinegar she requested. "Thanks, sweetie. Oh shoot, I almost forgot about the laundry."
Eric put his hands up. "Mom, don't worry, I think I can handle bringing her some towels." He rested his hands at his hips. "I'll leave them in the hall by the door and knock before I leave so she knows they're there."
Kitty nodded, continuing to dice the potatoes, too frazzled to analyze the situation further.
-
Rapping his knuckles against the bathroom door, lime green, fluffy bath towels folded under his arm, he bent down to place them where Chrissy would be able to see them. He could hear At Seventeen piping through Laurie's portable radio, even over the stream from the shower head.
Who called to say, "Come dance with me", and murmured vague obscenities. It isn't all it seems, at seventeen. A brown eyed girl in hand-me-downs, whose name I never could pronounce, said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve, they only get what they deserve"
Eric had genuinely planned to drop them by the door and leave. He hesitated only a moment, debating whether or not he even wanted her to know it was him. His stomach dropping gave him his answer. Taking half a step away, poised to turn his back, he saw the knob begin to turn.
Chrissy opened the door with steam escaping from around her. Hair pulled loose, it cascaded down her back and over her slim, coppery shoulders, now bare, having stripped out of her sweatshirt. Standing in the doorway in her shorts, and an itty-bitty white tube top, "Cowboys" arched across her tits in big, bold navy script. It was so form-fitting it looked painted on, the contrast of the white against her tan almost startling.
So it's a set. Huh.
"...what?"
Eric blinked, unaware he murmured the observation aloud. "I-er, here," he pointed to the towels on the floor, "in case you wanna...dry off."
She laughed a little, bending to scoop them up. "Yeah that would be helpful, thanks." Then adding, almost as a cruel afterthought. "I don't think your parents would appreciate it if I traipsed through their house soaking wet."
Like a button was pressed, Eric's mind held him hostage with the mental imagine of her golden body stark naked, sopping and sudsy in all the right places. He cleared his throat.
"I uh, I gotta, you know," he tipped his head back, shoving his hands into his pockets to still them, backing away from her, "the backyard and the... the propane I gotta," his tongue failing him and his mind busy tormenting him, he spluttered, "I'll see ya round, okay?"
And then he was gone, not giving her the time to react, much less respond.
Real smooth, jackass. What are you doing?
Eric berated himself all the way down the stairs and through the kitchen, blowing past his mother until he was safely back outside. Now he had time to think, and with that time, he began to second-guess everything.
You're just desperate man, you're really desperate. You haven't been laid in months. Chrissy is not into you, in fact, she's off limits. Complete forbidden territory. Jesus man she's Donnas first cousin. She's Bob's NIECE.
He channeled all of his pent up, nervous energy and sexual frustration into sweeping the backyard. Though he had relieved himself with an olympians dedication, he still had plenty bubbling over. Despite it all, Eric was truly sincere in wanting to forget all about her. At the end of the summer she'd no doubt return to Bayonne, and he'd be in the clear for good.
He'd never have to see her again. The scent of coconut would fade. He'd wash the strawberry out of his mouth with more PBR. Everything would go back to normal, just like it was before Hurricane Chrissy.
And then he made the mistake of looking up at the bathroom window.
And that's when he saw her standing at it. Topless.
Are you kidding me? She's kidding me. She HAS to be.
She wasn't even looking at him. She was positioned at the bathroom vanity, coiling her hair up into a bun atop her head, preening, like young woman are want to do. But she was taking her sweet time, as more and more condensation began to collect on the windows. And she was doing it tits out.
Eric could only see the profile view. Just teased with the silhouette of her perky breast, and erected nipple. But it was enough. Fully, golden tanned skin, bare for him to see. Putting to bed all of his imagination. Not a hint of a tan line to be found, which meant when she tanned she did so nude.
Eric groaned, audibly, not that she could hear.
Okay. He shook his head ruefully. This means war.
