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: : : IT'S A WEDNESDAY, AFTER SCHOOL, and Tim, on the couch in his parents' basement, stretches out. Megan's down there with him, she's sitting in front of the computer, checking her e-mail.
His folks won't be home for hours.
He wants Megan to come over and get on the couch with him. They still haven't kissed but he wants today to be the day. He's watching her and his dick's getting hard. She leans back from the keyboard, picks up a package of CD-Rs, weighs it in her hand.
—I know about what you do, she says, still studying the box.
—What? he says, even though he heard.
—I hear what they call you, she says. —Porno Pollard. She turns now, and her gaze is on him, steady, revealing no clue as to how she's feeling. He feels exposed. He finds himself ashamed of the erection in his jeans, wanting to put his hands over it. —I know what that's about, she says.
—I don't know what you mean, he tries.
She gives him a look. —Now you're just insulting me, she says. —I know what they're talking about; I've seen you selling the discs—why do you have to lie to me? I mean, do what you want, but don't tell me a lie right to my face.
—I— he starts. He's intending to stick to his story, just saying I'm not lying, I just really don't know what you mean, maybe that's the way out of this—but something holds him in check and instead he breaks off, goes quiet.
—I don't really get it, you know, she says. —Guys and porn. I mean—well, let's look at some.
She turns to the keyboard and starts typing. —Let's see, she says. —Hot teen sluts dot com.
—Don't, says Tim. He hauls himself up off the couch and tries to stop her but her fingers are fast on the keyboard. A livid picture pops up and some text.
—These pages contain free sexually explicit content, she reads. Tim has her wrist in one hand and he's trying to pry the mouse away with the other. —If you agree click here to enter.
He gets the mouse away from her. She makes a grab for it with her free hand. He drops it, so that he can get that wrist too. Now he's got them both. —Do you gotta— he says—she tries to yank away, but he holds tight. —Why you gotta be doing this? he says. He feels weirdly like he might burst into tears. She glares at him. He glares back. She's still sitting in the desk chair and he's kind of straddling her. They're both breathing heavily.
—Let go of me, she says.
—No, Tim says.
She frowns and jerks hard with her right hand; it pops out of his grasp. He still has her other wrist.
She puts her free hand between his legs, finds his erection through his pants and grabs it. His entire body gives a little spasm; he feels suddenly like he might shoot. She takes advantage of this moment of distraction, stands, pulls her other hand free, uses it to grab the hair at the back of his head. She yanks his head back and licks the length of his throat.
A big pulse beats in his dick and he knows that if she doesn't let go he's going to come. He pulls her hand off of him; she makes a grab for it with her other hand; he swats her away. Then she makes as if she's trying to push through him; she leans forward, shoulders him right in the chest; he loses his balance and they're both on the floor. She kneels on his arms and pushes her hand down onto his face, squashing his nose.
—Dumbass, she says, and this makes him mad—he rolls out from under her, drops her onto the floor. He gets her ankle in his hand and tries to stand, intending to hang her upside-down, but before he can get up she starts thrashing her other foot, catching him once in the forehead, pretty hard.
—Bitch, he says, and he climbs on top of her, pins her to the floor. She's looking up at him, smiling, breathing hard, and he's acutely aware of her body beneath him, her breasts, she's not wearing a bra and her nipples are hard, he can see, they're just right there, underneath him.
It occurs to him that he doesn't really have a good idea of what he's supposed to do next.
—C'mere, she says.
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