The Boy Next Door (Pt. 3)
A few hours later I was parked down the street from Ben’s house, debating the wisdom of going in by myself. Through the open passenger window, which no longer rolled up all the way, I could hear music coming from his yard. Normally I wasn’t shy about going anywhere solo, but I couldn’t decide if showing up alone at Ben’s party would make me look like a losery loner whose smarter friends had all gone away to college, or if it might lend me a cool sort of independent hipster vibe.
A hipster who’d run out for a Brazilian bikini wax right after his invitation.
I had to empty my bank account to pay for it, and I tipped the girl with change scrounged from the bottom of my car, but it was a necessity. With a razor I could have gotten myself bathing-suit-ready, but I wanted to be Ben-Simons-might-put-his-lips-there-tonight-ready. Just the thought of it made my core muscles clench, and for a moment I let myself imagine his dark head between my thighs, his tongue performing that butterfly stroke he was so famous for in high school. Then he’d pick his head up, his perfect mouth wet and shiny, and he’d lick his lips as he dragged that toned swimmer’s body up mine until I felt his hard--
Okay, I needed to stop.
My bikini bottoms were wet and I hadn’t even gotten in the pool yet.
I got out of my car, scooping up my purse and phone, and locked it up. The music, some kind of thump-and-grind R & B, got louder as I approached Ben’s house. Well, we didn’t have the same taste in music, that was for sure, but I was willing to overlook a few faults in Ben Simons--the more I thought about him, the more I hoped I hadn’t been mistaken about his invitation. If I walked in and he was on the couch making out with some college chick with a perfect blowout and a push-up bra, I was gonna be seriously disappointed.
As I passed Derek’s house, I heard the unmistakable high-pitched moaning noises he makes when he’s sexually excited. Even though we hadn’t gone all the way, he’d gotten off several times--too quickly, I might add--just by making out with me topless. I shuddered to think about his mother having to do his laundry, but I bet he’d just tossed those boxers and jeans into his hamper with everything else.
The lights were off, but he’d left his bedroom window open, and I rolled my eyes at the sound. His ridiculously loud whimpering had been annoying and unsexy even when I’d been the one underneath him, but hearing him out on the sidewalk was downright cringe-worthy. Ugh, how could I have even considered having sex with him? I don’t care how closely someone resembles Zac Efron, that kind of noise during sex is not acceptable. He sounded like a cat in heat.
I was just stepping onto Ben’s front porch when I heard Derek yell out.
“Oh, God, Marni...Yes!”
My jaw hit the cement. Marni? He’s dry-humping Marni, our manager at the video store? Or maybe he was really screwing her, I had no idea. But Marni was at least forty, with a smoker’s voice and complexion, and one lazy eye. Had he really gone from me to goddamn Marni?
It was sick, I knew, but I had to find out.
I left the porch and hurried to the side of Derek’s house, ditching my purse and sandals on the grass. After sidling through the rhododendron bushes (the soil was dry--I knew that fucker wouldn’t water them), I yanked and pushed on the trellis that climbed the brick wall to be sure it would hold me. Then I scaled it.
As I climbed, Derek kept up with the cat noises but I didn’t hear any rasps of pleasure from Marni. Guess he’s not doing it for her, either. When I was close enough, I grabbed the sill and leveled my eyes with the bottom of the screen. As my vision adjusted to the dark, Derek yelled out again.
“Natalie, oh God, yes, Natalie!”
What?! As Derek yowled his way to the big finish, I realized he was getting himself off, and thinking about Marni and me to do it.
“Ew,” I whispered. “Marni? Really?”
I could see him lying naked on his bed, jerking his dick with one fist and thumping his stupid Spiderman bedspread with the other. If he would just shut up, it might actually have been sort of hot because he was good-looking and had a nice body. But the sounds, ugh. And the fucking Spiderman sheets. Grow up, already. Move out of your mother’s house.
Ben’s voice startled me so much, I lost my footing on the trellis. “Shit!”
The noise inside Derek’s room stopped.
Oh my God, get down, get down, get down before he sees you spying on him. Frantically, I searched for a foothold and scrambled down, my face on fire. How the hell was I going to explain myself to Ben? I reached the bottom, backed up through the bushes, and turned to face him.
“I thought I saw you on the porch. What are you doing?” He wore swim trunks, which hung low enough on his hips for me to see the slanting V-cut of his lower abs, and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up. If my pulse hadn’t already been pounding from fright, the sight of him would have set it racing.
“Um, I heard something, and I wanted to see--I mean, I thought I might have left something here earlier, and I...oh, fuck.” I slapped my hands over my face. “How do I get myself into these situations?”
“This happens to you often?”
“Yes--I mean, no, not this exactly, but I’m not good at thinking things through before I act. I tend to be...impulsive. You know, I get an idea in my head and just go with it, without thinking about the consequences.”
Ben nodded. “Like the knee in the balls.”
I snapped my fingers. “Exactly.”
“Or the spying on boys in their bedrooms.”
Wincing, I nodded. “That too.”
“Ever spy on me?”
The mood changed instantly. “Maybe.”
“You don’t remember?”
I shrugged. “It’s possible. I spy on a lot of boys.”
“Oh, you’d remember me.”
Arching a brow, I lowered my chin and met his eyes. “Would I?”
“Mmmhmm.” He moved toward me, and I backed up through the bushes again until I hit the brick wall. Placing a hand on either side of my face, he set his hips against mine. “You know, when you were up there I could see up your skirt.”
From the feel of his erection on my stomach, I was guessing he liked what he saw. “Oh?” I was dying to get my hands on him, but for once, I told myself not to move too fast. Instead, I flattened my palms on the bricks behind me.
He nodded and brought his mouth so close to mine I could feel his breath on my lips. “I’ve always liked your legs. I used to watch you run track and imagine what they’d look like naked.”
Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her lipstick red, and her history with the naughty bits left in. Unhealthy obsessions include (but are not limited to) Mad Men, The Tudors, Game of Thrones, Boardwalk Empire, and Downton Abbey, although she wishes it were more HBO and less PBS. She lifts her glass to NA readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI.
Her debut Historical NA, SPEAK EASY, is available now.
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