"Well here." She said, kissing her finger and then touching it to my bare skin, just atop the scar. "That'll make it better."
My flesh jumped at her touch, feeling the slight wetness of her saliva transferred from her fingertips to my side.
"You missed one." I told her, pointing at the surgical incision. She gave me another smile and then repeated the procedure for that one.
"Hope that makes them feel better." She said, eyeing the bulge in my sweat pants.
"It does." I assured her. "It really does."
Tracy seemed in shock as she watched her friend openly flirting with me. When they walked into the kitchen to fill the bong with water I saw a quick, whispered conversation that ended with Tracy glancing at me and then shaking her head in disbelief. I was in disbelief as well but fully prepared to take advantage of the situation. Why was Cindy acting this way with me when she'd treated me with quiet contempt before? I didn't really care but I was curious.
"You like to smoke buds?" Cindy asked me as she pulled a small baggie from her pocket.
"I LOVE it." I told her, staring into her eyes hard enough to make her blush.
Tracy looked at us uncomfortably.
She began loading up the bong, which I insisted, in the interests of safety, that we take out into the garage to smoke from. I knew that the smell of pot lingered in a room for hours and I'd recently learned very graphically that all bets were now off. I was being careful. The girls whined a little at my suggestion but finally agreed to it. So we got stoned amid my father's tools and boxes of motor oil, in the unheated garage where we could see our breath misting into the air.
"Now don't you feel safe?" I asked the two of them once we were back inside.
"If Mom and Dad come home unexpectedly now, all we have to worry about is pretending we're not stoned. We don't have to worry about them smelling it in the house."
"Mom and Dad never come home early." Tracy scoffed, taking a swig from a Coke. "You're just paranoid Billy."
"Tracy," I told her. "If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's to expect and plan for the unexpected. Sure, they probably won't come home early tonight, but it's within the realm of possibility, isn't it? If you work to eliminate all risks you'll usually be pretty safe. If you go through life assuming the worst will never happen, someday you're gonna get fucked." I stared directly at her as I said this and it was clear she got my message. Her arms broke out into visible gooseflesh and she trembled uneasily for a second.
"I guess you're right Bill." She allowed carefully, no doubt thinking about the conversation I'd had with her not too long ago.
"That's some pretty deep shit." Cindy said, scooting herself a little closer to me. "Is there anything to eat here?"
While Tracy was heating up some frozen burritos in the microwave, Cindy and I continued to sit on the couch.
"So where's your boyfriend tonight?" I asked her.
"You mean Jeff?" She shook her head and made a sour face. "I'm not going out with him anymore. He's an asshole."
"I could've told you that." I said.
"I made out with him a few times and he was telling everyone he was screwing me. Do guys really think that we won't hear about it when they say shit like that?"
"Sometimes I'm not sure what they think." I replied. "I think that 'think' is probably too strong a word for what they do. It seems to me that girls should stick to a general rule when deciding who they are going to, well, have fun with."
"Oh?" She asked perkily.
"The more a guy talks about having gotten pussy, the less pussy he's actually got. Now Jeff probably told you he'd screwed plenty of girls, right?"
"Oh yeah." She said. "As if that's going to impress us."
"Exactly. On the other hand, the guys that never tell pussy stories are usually the ones getting all the pussy. You see, they are smart enough to realize that discretion is the better part of valor. It's a pleasant cycle.
You don't talk about it, you get more of it, you get better at it. Your best lovers are gonna be those guys that have never told a pussy story in their life."
"Like you?" She asked, twirling a lock of her hair with her finger.
"Perhaps." I agreed. "But of course there's only one true way to find out how good someone is in bed."
"Really?" Cindy smiled. "And what is that?"
"Extensive personal research." I told her, letting my fingertip glide over the back of her hand. "Do you like to research?"
Tracy's return kept her from replying. She had plates of burritos and fresh cokes in her hands. Her eyes saw my fingertip caressing Cindy's hand and she shot another puzzled look at her friend. I could understand the source of her confusion. Cindy had always gone for the football player types. The good looking, rich boys from good families, and always older than her. Now she was shamelessly flirting with ME, her brother, who was not only not rich, not a football player, and not blessed with the rugged good looks of a Ken doll, but was two years younger than her as well. To Tracy it was probably as if the fabric of existence had suddenly developed a tear.
I got up to go take a leak (and to adjust my hard-on a little, it was bent at an uncomfortable angle). When I returned I could see that the two girls had been discussing something. Cindy was batting her eyes at me and Tracy was staring at me, as if she was seeing a completely different person.
When Cindy got up to go pee a few minutes later, Tracy waited until the bathroom door was closed and then turned to me almost angrily. "Do you know what Cindy told me?" She asked.
"What?" I said mildly.
"She heard that you screwed Steph Massie over by the falls last week. Is that true?"
"No." I shook my head. "We took a walk is all that happened. Talked a little. I was trying to get somewhere with her but she wouldn't go for it."
"That's not what Cindy heard." Tracy accused.
"Oh?" I asked. "And what did Cindy hear? And what does she care about Steph anyway? They don't exactly hang out together."
Tracy scowled at me. "Who do you think Cindy got the buds from you idiot? Everyone knows that Stephanie's brother is the biggest pot dealer in school."
"Oh," I paused, reaching back in my memory. Now that she mentioned it I DID remember that little piece of trivia. "Well, what did she hear?"
"Steph told her that you took her into the woods and gave her the best lay she's ever had." Tracy shook her head in disgust. "And believe me, that bitch has had quite a few lays. Did you really fuck her?"
"No." I said. "I didn't."
"Well why would she be telling people that you did?"
I shrugged. "She's just telling dick stories. You know how women are always doing that."
"Dick stories?" Tracy asked. "Girls do NOT tell dick stories!"
"Tracy," I finally asked. "What possible concern is this of yours?"
"What?"
"Why are you grilling me about this? What business is it of yours?"
"Because Cindy thinks you're some kind of great lover and she wants to, you know? That's why!"
"Wouldn't that be Cindy's business?" I asked.
"I just think she should know the truth." Tracy said indignantly.
"Okay. Tell her. Get her alone and tell her that I said I've never fucked Steph or anyone else. Tell her I'll deny fucking anyone, anywhere, at any time to my dying day. I'll go to my deathbed swearing that I'm a virgin." I smiled. "Maybe that will get her to back off."
Tracy opened her mouth to say something and then stopped, staring at me, her mind turning over what I'd just said. Her exasperation with me slowly turned into something else. It was the same change of expression I'd seen on the cop's face in the hospital. The expression became one of respect.
"You see Trace." I continued. "I might TRY to get somewhere with Cindy tonight. I might even get her to come to my room with me. But I won't get anywhere with her. Even if we're up there for an hour. Even if Cindy comes down and tells you I fucked the shit out of her, that I was the best lover she'd ever had, it would only be a lie. I will never get anywhere with anyone to hear me tell it. I guess I'm doomed to just keep trying forever and ever."