tagRomanceRevenge of the Nerd Ch. 41

Revenge of the Nerd Ch. 41

byrpsuch©

We talked about my Father on the drive back to my house. Jeff seemed optimistic we could find a way to get to him based on Dad's concern with his image. I was not convinced.

I parked in my driveway and we headed up to my room. I closed the door and took Jeff to the closet, which was open.

"This is what you'll wear," I told him.

"Khakis?" he asked, surprised.

"They probably work better than jeans for my purposes, and they'll give you another look."

"Ashley knows best."

"And wear those Danskos with them. You can wear socks and that's appropriate for your surprise."

"We're volunteering at a hospital?" he asked.

"I won't answer any questions. You'll just keep asking until you get it right so my answer is: you'll see when we get there."

We got into the car and I headed towards Lancaster Avenue.

"Very mysterious," said Jeff.

I changed the subject, not just to change the subject.

"I've been thinking about what you said about attacking my Father's image. You're bad for his image in his mind. It's a shame, because he could do a lot worse."

"I hope that's not meant to be a compliment."

"We're talking about his view. You know I think you're not bad at all.

"Anyway, I was thinking he could do a lot worse. I could come home with a Goth boyfriend. I could come back with tattoos."

"Please don't," said Jeff.

"I'm just talking about possibilities. I have no intention of marring this flawless skin. But I could bring home a biker. 'Hi, Dad. Meet my boyfriend Spike. '

"And I can do much worse than that. 'Hey, Dad. This is Sputum. He's my dealer, but he is just the baddest guy. '"

"No. What you need to do is bring home a seriously butch, black woman. 'Hey, Dad. This is my old man, Nancy. Don't worry. She's Jewish and I don't have to spend any of my trust fund for her drugs, she turns tricks for that. '"

After the laughter died down we still had to stop the intermittent giggling before we could continue talking.

I turned right onto Wynnewood Road.

"There is one problem with bringing in somebody way more unacceptable," said Jeff. "You need to sell it, and you need to maintain it long enough for it to sink into every pore of their bodies and start to rot them from the inside out before they'll be ready to jump at me as the far superior choice. That could take a long time."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"We need something quick and deadly," he said.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I have no idea."

I turned left onto Haverford Avenue, drove past the light and parked at Wynnewood Lanes.

Jeff was looking at me strangely as I slowed down and parked.

"We're going bowling?"

"What gave it away?" I asked.

He started to answer and laughed.

"When did you learn to bowl?"

"I've been taking lessons."

"I could have given you a book," he said, deadly serious.

I smiled, shook my head and closed my eyes.

"Once a nerd, always a nerd."

I opened the trunk and told him he needed to take his bag with his balls and shoes.

"Where did you get these?" he asked.

I would have thought the answer was obvious.

"I stopped by your house earlier."

He was even more surprised that I had my own bag, shoes and ball.

I'd made a reservation more than a week ago. Summer is a prime time for leagues and they don't have many lanes available. It wasn't a big deal, but he was amazed by the detail of my planning.

If that surprised him, he was even more surprised by my level of skill.

Jeff had a killer hook. The ball would sometimes teeter on the edge of the lane, seemingly about to fall in the gutter, then, almost miraculously, sweep into the one-three pocket and scatter the pins like a stick of dynamite.

The power of the rotation is what scatters the pins so savagely. The rotation causes the hook. It also makes accuracy more difficult.

I had a baby hook which got me a decent mix, but not the kind of explosion that would take down all ten pins when the entry point was not precise.

We bowled three games. Jeff averaged 211. I averaged 142.

When we finished the last game, he sat on the bench and just looked at me. It said, wow! Wow, is she great. Wow, am I lucky. Wow, I can't believe she did this.

That look was the kind of reward that compels you to try to keep giving this kind of gift.

Jeff put his hands up in front of him as if to say, "I'm speechless." And, suitably, he was speechless. It was amazing praise, but I wanted more.

I moved toward him and leaned my chest against his, no hands. My voice and my face spoke seduction.

"Did you enjoy your birthday present?"

"Amazing."

"Let's go back to my house and shower so we can have a leisurely dessert."

Jeff needed no prompting on the drive back to my house. My Father was forgotten.

Jeff talked about bowling and how I always put such thought into not only gifts, but our relationship generally. I think he was a bit off the mark on the latter unless he was counting my devious machinations, but I accepted the praise.

I was slowly moving toward the belief that I did deserve him and that we could last. Occasionally, I would encourage him to continue.

"Oh, no, you're being much too lavish in your praise. It was nothing. Tell me more."

If you had asked me at that point, what was the best part of our relationship, I'm pretty sure I would have said, "Everything." But the thing I was enjoying most, almost beyond reason, was the playfulness of our conversations. It took no work at all and every time we did it I felt more energetic.

We started to kiss when we got to my room and continued to do so as we slowly removed each others' clothing, softly touching newly uncovered flesh. It was intense from the first touch of our lips.

When the last item of clothing hit the floor, Jeff slid his hand up my thigh heading for the juncture of my legs. I slapped it away.

"It's your birthday, not that I need an excuse. I want to drive you crazy."

"Don't you remember how crazy I get from bringing you pleasure; from teasing you so badly you want to smack me?"

"Yes. And I want to do some of that to you."

"Well, if you insist," he said.

I slid my hand over his abdomen and found a treat.

"They don't make them any harder than this. And it sure didn't take you long to get this way."

"You're so sexy," he said, "I get this way just thinking about you. We don't even need to be on the same continent. Who can resist a woman who bowls?"

I decided he was altogether too talkative to be enjoying this as much as I wanted him to. I slid down the bed and ran my tongue along the vein on the bottom.

His groan told me Chatty Cathy had left the room.

I ran my tongue over the entire surface before starting to envelop it in my mouth. All Jeff could do was moan unintelligibly. I eased off because I wanted him to regain the power of speech.

"Do you remember when you used the ice cubes?" I asked.

"Which time?"

Now that was impressive. I'm not sure I would have been able to answer in his condition, let alone crack a joke.

"No, you brought them in twice. You only used them once."

"Oh, yes, I remember," he said.

He could be such a smart ass. I licked the head. He groaned.

"Is there anything comparable I could do?"

He shuddered and paused. It wasn't so much to collect his thoughts as his wits.

"Are you familiar with the word 'Nifkin'?"

I eased my lips over the head and withdrew. He made noises.

"You're not in any hurry, are you?" I asked.

He laughed. "You're such a bad girl."

"And you love it."

"I do."

"Were you referring to the dog in Good in Bed, or the area it was named after?"

"Not the dog." His voice was strained. "At the point of ooooooh."

I slid my mouth down him again. I couldn't help teasing. I slowly moved back up, applying some suction and working my tongue. Jeff had been right. As I felt each quiver, each jerk, each involuntary thrust, heard each uncontrollable sound, I was as aroused as if he was working on me. Each time I teased and felt his need and his frustration grow, my arousal soared.

I eased off.

"At what point?" I asked.

He panted. "Orgasm." Pant. "Put your fingers on the perineum - nifkin - and press lightly."

He was saying it very quickly so he could finish before he finished.

"Either jiggle them or press and rub."

"Tell me...," I said.

I went back to work. Pressure, movement, tongue, lips. There wasn't anything I wanted him to tell me. I just thought it might hold him off a little longer worrying about what I needed to know before I could give him release. I wasn't far away myself.

I cupped his balls and let my fingers do the walking. His hips began to thrust involuntarily as he grunted. I slid my hand down to the ridge below and replaced it with my other hand.

I don't know what made me do it, but I started to hum Battle Hymn of the Republic. Soon he was making those urgent noises that told me Dr. Jeckyll had been replaced by Mr. Hyde, all action and no thought.

I pressed lightly on the ridge. When I felt the first sharp muscular contraction, I started to jiggle my fingers. His cries of exultation reverberated off the walls of my room.

Shit, I needed a third hand to clamp over his mouth. I at least wanted to tell my parents I had a boyfriend before they found me giving him a blow job.

Suddenly I learned the truth of the aphorism "It is better to give than to receive." My contractions were intense.

Fortunately, the sounds tailed off. The spasms did not. Finally, he was done. Then, so was I. He lay there immobile. I kissed his stomach, his ribcage, a nipple, his chin, his cheek.

"Happy nineteenth birthday, William Jefferson Goldberg."

He began to giggle.

I began to giggle.

"I know you're not eighteen any more, but do you think I could get you interested again?" I asked.

"I think I can. I think I can." He paused. He smiled. "I know I can."

He put his arm around my shoulder and slowly drew me against him.

"Did it work?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he said. "See how much you can learn from books?"

He slowly pulled back from me.

"Battle Hymn of the Republic?"

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