From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 18: KNIGHT IN DARK ARMOR)
Ireland, Celeste, and I are sipping cocktails on large deck chairs at the pool. Well, except for Celeste, who is sipping mineral water.
“Special lady friend?” I tease, taking a sip of my cocktail, which is a lot vodka and a little soda.
Ireland hikes up her dress again because it’s barely covering her massive assets—a testament to why a twenty-year-old Hollywood producer wants to play house with her while his parents are out of town.
“I think it means he likes me,” she says winking.
“My dad calls some of my mom’s friends his ‘special lady friends,’” says Celeste. “But she doesn’t seem to like that.”
“Doesn’t it imply someone you just like to get your rocks off with?” I feel Jack and I have talked about this term of not-so-endearment.
Celeste scowls at me.
Ireland lights up a cigarette. “How would he know what anything means? He’s twenty.” She adjusts her top again and points across the pool from us. “See that guy in the ponytail and white jeans?”
Celeste and I scan the crowd and spot the only pair of white jeans; so tight you can see the muscles in the guy’s ass clenching. He notices all three of us staring at him, and smiles and winks. He looks like…a Chippendale’s dancer.
Ireland thinks he used to be one, she says, and then starts telling us about another afternoon when she and Justin were drunk off their asses. They were running around the house naked, trying to set some record for sex in the most places in one day, until Ireland said she was thirsty and jumped off Justin’s boner and ran into the kitchen. She bent over the kitchen sink to quench her thirst, like you would over a water fountain, when suddenly she felt someone press up against her backside.
He started rubbing her ass and tits, and slid one hand between her thighs to feel her wet sex. “When you ready for a real man,” said a husky voice with a Latin accent, “I be waiting.” And he let go of her.
She slowly turned around to see, walking away…the pool boy. Except there was nothing “boy” about him; he was all man.
Despite feeling slightly violated, confesses Ireland, “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking him ever since.” She re-crosses her legs and adjusts her top—again.
Celeste clears her throat—like she always does when the conversation turns from PG-13 to R rated.
“I’m going to Arizona in a couple weeks,” she announces, before carefully lifting a chocolate-covered strawberry to her lips. Celeste can take five minutes to chew a piece of fruit.
“What’s in Arizona, Missy?” Ireland asks, exhaling.
I cough—maybe from Ireland’s smoke going up my nose, maybe from my cocktail going down the wrong pipe, or more realistically, from shock. There is only one reason Celeste would be flying to Arizona.
“Holy shit! You’re going to visit Jake Benson!” I turn to Ireland. “The professional football player Jake Benson!” I down the rest of my drink, not noticing the vodka so much anymore. “Oh my god—did you have sex with him?”
Celeste sucks on her strawberry. “No.” She finally takes a bite.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ireland jumps in. “What professional football player did you not have sex with, and why?”
“He’s a receiver for the Cardinals.” I tell her. “He’s hot.”
Ireland turns to Celeste, clearly confused. “And you’re not having sex with him?”
Celeste chews slowly. “He’s Christian. Christians don’t have sex until they’re married.” She gets up—because Celeste is not comfortable talking about sex—and tells us she’s going to get another strawberry.
I ponder what could have been my fate. I don’t know whether to feel happy for Celeste right now, or hate her.
To Be Continued…
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2009 by Dorota Skrzypek.
All Rights Reserved.
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