Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 8

8

CHRIS

R ebecca’s face has taken on some kind of flush, but in a… good way? Her cheeks are glowing with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts and without her glasses on, I can see her green eyes sparkling like a morning meadow. She bounces in place, her wet ponytail swaying and splattering me with sprinklers of river water. Her hands are clasped together like a child, and it doesn’t matter if ten seconds from now, she puts her glasses back on, turns pale and bolts for the car with her arms wrapped around herself; in this moment, she’s joyful and not scared of a damn thing, and I mentally catalog it.

In fact, I feel something happening inside myself that I haven’t felt before. Some kind of humbling satisfaction. Seeing her smile is giving me a thrill I could never get at Six Flags.

I did that. I made her feel this good. And I didn’t even need to unzip my fly.

“You, uh, okay there, Mouse?” I check in, settling my hands on my hips. “You look like me after half a can of BLAST.”

This makes her whip her towards me, beaming and holding my gaze for once, and she giggles. Like a proper girly laugh, and oh my god… I make people laugh all the time, sometimes just by looking at them. But that’s different. I guess they’re already predisposed or open to laughing, but this girl is usually so buttoned-up and quiet, and this moment suggests it isn’t necessarily because it’s how she wants to be.

It’s something she can’t help. It’s what she does to feel safe.

Oh. My. God.

She’s opened up and letting loose because she feels safe with me.

While bungee jumping.

I’ve never been that for someone before. It’s a rush as powerful as the jump we just did, but in a different way. And fuck, how she lights up… I was intrigued with her before, and thought maybe veering away from my usual choice in women would be good for me, but seeing her like this is just bringing out all of her inner beauty and making me a little weak-kneed.

“I’m great,” she answers with a satisfied sigh. “Are you okay?” She her smile turns slightly cautious.

“I’m…super,” I tell her. Jack is the damn lyricist. I don’t have words for what I’m feeling.

Yeah, I’m dandy over here. I just used my brain for something other than video games or random afterparty dance-offs.

I don’t feel sorry for her. I like her. I respect her, even more after today. She was scared shitless, but she didn’t let that stand in her way. That is fucking epic.

Oh my god, she made me think. Should I go lie down? Nah, fuck it, I’m fine. “Seriously, I’m great,” I assure her as her breathing starts to slow, but the smile doesn’t die down. I take her hand in mine, and she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t even stiffen or look at me weird. She just walks along beside me as I lead us up the bank, like this is normal.

Like what’s happening here is nothing to be scared of.

Rebecca’s smile has morphed into some kind of wicked smirk. She’s staring down at her phone with her thumbs galloping away on the screen. Either way, it’s invigorating me to see it.

I take a quick glance around her living room again, surprised she not only let me come in, but invited me in when I drove her back home. Surrounded by Chinese takeout containers, I’ve never had such a low-key, almost mundane evening in all my life.

And fuck me backwards with a fish fork if I don’t love every second. Because she’s fun, even when she’s just sat back doing her thing, not saying anything. She’s like a magnet to me, and I never experienced that feeling before, but it’s fucking great. Like being drunk on a person.

The small hiss she makes as she suppresses a laugh gets my attention, and I have to know what’s going on. She’d better not be texting another dude. After our magical afternoon, dangling from bungee cords tied together, I’m feeling a little possessive.

“Oh, um…” She smiles coyly at me. “I kind of like to… mess with people online.”

“Seriously?” I ask as I shift forward in my seat on the couch. She just got even more interesting.

“Yeah, it’s… kind of my outlet,” she confesses sheepishly as she reaches for one of the takeout containers, picking it at its contents with her chopsticks. “Typing is how I get out things I’d really love to say to all the many assholes of the world.”

“That actually sounds awesome.” I stab at an eggroll with my chopstick. I never got the hang of how to use them, but I’ve never allowed it to get in the way of my meals. “So, who are you messaging right now, and what about? I want in on this.”

She gives me a considering, almost sheepish look. “Okay.” She gives a warm giggle and shifts in her seat, curling up a little closer to me. I love that she’s seriously that comfortable with me that she can kick back like this.

She swipes her phone and pulls up whatever message thread she had up. “So, there are a lot of douchebag trolls, and they love to either mess with people, or try to get something going, like cybersex or a hookup or naughty photos. Anyway, this one guy is trying to tell me he’s a billionaire with a Lamborghini and a dick that could take care of any of my needs. Want to help me come up with a response?”

“Sure,” I hold my hand out for her phone. I give a huge belly laugh when I read the stranger’s message to my mouse-lion. “No fucking way…I can’t believe people actually do this! I mean… What are they expecting, that you’re gonna throw yourself at his probably-barely-average cock? Puh-LEASE.”

For half a second, I feel pukey at the thought of her doing that to someone else. She’s my woman. And if that means I should be dressed in a loin cloth, brandishing a cudgel, fine by me.

“No,” she says blithely. “He’ll want a photo of my… Um, my t-tits.” Her ears go red.

I freeze. “What?” I’m not an idiot, I know that this is the way things are on some parts of the internet, but the thought of someone trying to manipulate Rebecca into giving him a photo of…

Of…

My blood turns heated, damn near burning, as I think of her without a top on. The gentle curves of her. The color of her skin, her nipples. Would they tighten as I looked at them…?

I realize that my eyes have dropped to her chest, and I’m basically just staring at her breasts like…

Like this creep would, given half the chance.

That does it.

I pick up her phone again, determined to teach this prickless prick a lesson. “You’re…full…of shit…” I say aloud as I type. She snorts next to me.

Within seconds, her message alert tone pings again, and there it is.

One decidedly average dick. Hairy up the shaft and stubby with a mushroom cap head.

“Oh hell no,” I bark, standing and pulling at my fly. “This guy is about to get crushed…”

Rebecca

Holy shit…

Am I in the Twilight Zone? Because…

…nope, it’s no good, there are no words sufficient to explain how utterly other-worldly this is.

As though it’s completely normal and no big deal, Chris pulls his jeans and Calvins down, exposing his remarkably long and thick semi-erect penis, and snaps a photo of it. On my phone. And then sends it with a boyish cackle to the creep who’s been bugging me for days.

It’s so inappropriate. It’s a very long way beyond the pale.

But I am too thrilled and turned on to care.

Oh my God, I just saw a dick. I’ve never seen a dick before. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of anatomy books, gotten plenty of dick picks among my online shenanigans, including the one I just got that Chris just responded to with his own dick. Plus, I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen plenty of porn. But I’ve never had a dick in me, I’ve never touched a dick, I’ve never seen a real-life dick in person. Like literally three feet away from me, attached to a living breathing man in my living room, was a dick.

A big dick.

A really, really big dick. And if it’s that size when it’s just at half-mast…

I cross my legs.

“Mouse?” Chris dips his chin and cocks an eyebrow, and looks at me like he didn’t just have his cock out a minute ago. “What’s up? You alright?” I don’t know what to say, and even if I did, it would come out all sputtery. I have trouble with encounters as it is, with just people. Just their regular, non-private parts, like hands and faces. Hell, I have trouble shaking hands, and now there’s a peen in my living room.

A peen that, if this relationship were to continue, I’d have to eventually shake hands with.

Or shake it with my vagina.

And let’s move on to the bigger issue, shall we? How can I possibly have sex for the first time with a dick that big, and that’s if I can even get to that moment, for dicks sake.? I mean, I’ve had more than my fair share of practice with vibrators, with sizes ranging from the Bullet to the Rabbit to the Jackrabbit. But if I ever wanted to put my vagina on that dick, I’d have to move up to Monster Mutant Rabbit, and use it for three weeks solid in preparation.

I mean, there are worse ways to spend three weeks, but…it’s intimidating.

In my efforts not to tremble with both dread and lust, I’m rigid and twitchy as I attempt to speak.

“It will never f-fit,” is what comes out. Spectacular.

“What? What won’t fit? I don’t - ” He glances down towards his crotch and back at my face. And then realization must fall over him like a heavy blanket because his eyelids lower as his mouth drops open. “Shit… Mouse, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I grew up on a commune with a bunch of freaky people who didn’t think nudity was a big deal. I mean, it was just normal to wander around bare ass freeballing, and for a second, I forgot that I was with someone that’s not used to penises flapping about.” He looks genuinely ashamed of himself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’ve ruined this…”

Chris is a loose cannon, and his cannon was just loose. But I know he didn’t mean anything sleazy by it.

And just like that, I calm down again. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever met… But then, I’m also nothing like anyone he’s been around, no doubt. He’s just as much of an oddball as I am, in his own vastly different way. And whatever we end up doing with that monster wang, it’ll work out. I mean, my vag is capable of dealing with a baby’s head, theoretically. His baby’s-arm-holding-an-apple will be fine. And I trust him to be kind about it.

I blow out a breath, feeling my heart rate come down and pick up my phone, trying to just roll us both past it.

“Rebecca,” Chris sounds forlorn. “I’m really sorry for -,”

The poor drummer can’t finish because a laugh bursts out of me. I try to contain it, but the more I try to suppress it, the bigger it gets and forces itself out from between my lips. An embarrassing chortle comes out but erupts into a full on belly laugh before I have time to feel self-conscious about it.

I can barely register Chris’s confused expression, let alone explain myself so I just hold my phone out to him. He takes it, his eyes squinted in concentration as he reads Wonder Boy’s response.

“Why would you send me a picture of the state of Florida, you sick bitch?” He looks up with his features compressed together. “Hey!” And then rather than joining me in my throes of laughter, he looks back down and starts furiously typing. “No one calls my girl that!” His fingers start furiously tapping as he once again reads his response aloud. “Well… you sent me…a pic of a…stillborn gopher. I thought we were just swapping…pics of random stuff.”

My laughter is just starting to bubble out when he looks back down at me, his face relaxing. Tossing my phone to land softly on the other side of the couch, he sits down close and reaches for me. Oddly, I don’t shy away from the personal space his frame is consuming. He lets out a breath, like he’s decompressing - not something I’ve seen him do before - as he reaches for my arms, and starts running his hands up and down my sleeves.

His hands are warm, and it seeps through to my skin, and he’s applying just the right amount of pressure. A comforting caress… this is something I’ve never gotten before.

“This is nice,” I manage the words as the last of my giggles peter out.

“This?” Chris nods to his hands on my arms and I nod back.

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Think you could brave coming a little closer?” He’s regarding me cautiously but he’s giving me that cheesy half-smile, too and it makes another silent giggle escape. And why not? We were strapped together earlier today, and what he’s doing is calming, even though I don’t need to be calmed right now. Just this touch is like a warm blanket of security and I’m more than eager to find out the wonders a cuddle could do for me.

“Yeah,” I nod my head and scooch closer to him. He lifts one leg to pull me closer, and - CROTCH ALERT! I’m sitting on his crotch!

Chris must hear the alarm bells going off in my head because he deftly pulls me against his chest and continues rubbing his hands up and down my back and says, “Easy Mouse. The Captain is under firm orders to stand down until further notice.”

“The Captain?”

“Yeah, you didn’t….? Nevermind,” he clears his throat nervously.

“I didn’t what?” I ask him.

“I uh… thought maybe you saw the tattoo.” He shrugs, and it pulls me against him a little tighter.

“Tattoo?”

Tattoo. Crotch. Dick pic. Oh!

“Ohh…” I muse, flatly. I hadn’t gotten a gander at that as I was frozen stock still by the sheer size of his member, but -, “You have a tattoo there?”

“Hey, I lose a bet, I follow through.”

I let out another laugh and shake my head before daring to lay it down all the way on his chest.

All these things happening since I met Chris should have me under my bed, and yet, I’m here - in the arms of the worlds most extroverted rockstar. And I’m laughing.

I guess Chris is showing me that some things are possible.