Sister Monica Ch. 07

Josh had always loved returning home for the summer. True, it had been his choice to go to school across the country, to experience the Northeast—but he still missed home. There was nothing like coastal central California. His parents, who still lived in the same house he grew up in, lived just a mile from the Pacific Ocean, and year-round the weather was comfortable—not too hot in summer, never too cold in winter. That's the thing he hated about the Northeast—the winter. When it was below zero and snowing on frosty January evenings, he usually dreamt of home, of the surf kissing the sandy expanse of beach, of the clear, blue California sky, of shirtsleeve weather and fields of poppies bobbing in the wind.

But this year was different. Winter in the great white North had changed his life. He had fallen in love. And now, the prospect of summer away from Monica stretched out before him like an endless highway, leading to some unseen horizon. How was he supposed to get along for over three months without her? He had just arrived back home yesterday, and it was good to see his folks—Mom had lost twenty pounds and looked great—and Jeffrey, of course. Jeffrey, who had always idolized him, hung on his every word. Sometimes it was annoying having a kid brother, but Jeffrey was all right. Twelve years old, smart, full of questions (and answers). He had missed the kid.

But he missed Monica more. Only apart for twenty-four hours now, and already he longed to be with her, to look into the depths of her brown eyes, to run his fingers through her fiery red hair, to caress the soft flesh of her breasts, to feel her vaginal walls, slick with arousal, gripping his rock-hard penis as he thrust in and out of her while she moaned and rushed toward a thundering climax. He longed to just talk to her, hold her hand, smile, listen to the music of her laughter.

How had he fallen so deeply, so desperately, in love? How had he allowed himself to get to this point—where a twenty-four-hour separation felt like twenty-four days? Worse—he had the entire summer to think about what she'd said to him. That she was seventeen years older than he was, that she couldn't give him a lot of children, that he needed to consider, soberly and with foresight, the prospects of marriage. He needed to think practically, with his head, not his heart. But all he was able to do right now was miss her. He lay back on the bed, his bed, looking at the walls of the room he grew up in. He still had a poster of Ken Griffey Jr. on the wall. It had frayed a bit, and one of the corners was ripped off, but other than that, it was in good shape. He'd always valued its presence—it was like a rock in a sea of change. When he first went away to college, he lay in his dorm room, missing that poster. When he came home for Christmas break, he looked at it and it provided him with comfort. Things were still the same, it seemed to say. Nothing's really changed. But now, it no longer said that. Somehow it looked older, like a relic from the distant past. It belonged to his life ten years ago, last year . . . not now. Everything was different now.

He sat up, turned on his cell, texted Monica a message . . .

"Hey sexy. Thinking of u, missing u. Wish you were here."

Not twenty seconds later, his phone chirped. "I miss u too," she wrote. "But try to have fun, Josh. Enjoy home.:)"

Yeah. Enjoy home. He'd never had trouble doing that before. But this summer, it seemed impossible.

*

"So . . ."

Josh looked down at the tabletop, at the back of his hands. "So" was what his dad said when he was pissed off.

"May I ask . . . how did you manage to spend all the money in your account?"

He had just cried poverty, told his parents that he would need another grand for his checking account when he went back to school in August. "Um . . . you know," he fumbled. He hadn't told them about Monica yet. He wasn't sure why not. He would need to tell them, of course. After all, she was the woman he intended to marry. But now wasn't the time. Not so soon after getting back home. Besides, he had all summer to tell them.

"No," his father said, folding his hairy arms, "I don't know. You care to enlighten me, Son?"

Josh swallowed. He needed to think quickly. "Books went up last year, Dad. And you know how it was. I tried to get through the semester without a job. Y'know, so I could give more time to my studies. But I had to keep borrowing from the account, then, 'cause I had no income. Things just added up, that's all."

His dad just shook his head. "No. It doesn't add up, Josh. And you know—"

"Oh, c'mon, Reed, give him a break." It was Mom—to the rescue. Just what he'd been hoping for. "It's not like we don't have a thousand dollars."

Dad sighed. "Honey, that's not the point . . ."

Mom pouted at him, then winked. Josh wanted to throw up. She was flirting. It was great that his parents still wanted to get it on, but he just didn't like to think of it.

"Just give him a break, Reed," she said. "It'll pay off, big-time, if you do." Another wink, and she went up to him, massaged his shoulders.

Dad leaned his head back, enjoying the rub-down. "Okay," he said. "You win." Mom kissed him, more sensually than Josh would have cared to see, and the matter was closed. Geez. Mom was acting extra flirty now that she'd lost weight, and Dad was eating it up.

"But I expect you to be more responsible with the money in the fall," Dad warned. "Understood?"

Josh nodded, feeling like a six-year-old. Then he got up to leave. Mom was acting way too frisky to his liking, and he got the feeling that his parents were about to get naked, real soon. Maybe right here in the kitchen. It was a sad day indeed when his parents were getting more action than he was.

*

He was horny, so horny. He had called Monica on the cell a little while ago and asked her to create an IM account. She said she had never done that, but he assured her it was free and easy. Five minutes later, she texted him, telling him she had created an account.

So now here he was, in his room, just after eight o'clock, chatting with Monica. It wasn't the same as being with her, but it was all he had at the moment.

But just then, a knock at his door.

"Josh?" It was Jeffrey. Josh groaned. He knew his brother wanted to talk after missing him all winter and spring. But why now?

He got up, unlocked the door, and Jeffrey walked in. Immediately he eyed the monitor, saw that Josh was on a chat site.

"Oh," Jeffrey said. "I guess you're busy."

"No, it's okay," Josh said, even though it wasn't. "I'm capable of having a three-way. Plant yourself on the bed, Jeff. 'Long as you don't mind my chatting online at the same time."

Jeffrey shook his head, sat down. Josh went back to the PC, keyed in that his brother had just entered the room.

"Oh," Sister Monica keyed in. "Well, maybe you should talk to him, then?"

Josh told her he could do both, and that his brother probably wouldn't stay for more than a few minutes.

"Hmm," she wrote back. "Why don't you give him some uninterrupted time, Josh. I'll still be logged on here for a while. Just send me a message when you come back.:)"

He frowned, but it was probably for the best. "Okay," he wrote. "I should only be away a few minutes. Stay where you are, gorgeous."

She sent him a smiley face and a wink. "I love these emoticon thingies," she wrote, and included another smiley face.

"So," he said, getting up and sitting beside his brother on the bed, "what's on your mind, Jeff?" He hoped he wasn't coming across as in a hurry. He was in a hurry, it was true. But he didn't want to be rude to his brother.

Jeff was to the point. "Girls."

Girls? Well, no wonder. The kid was twelve, after all. He'd be in junior high next fall. Hell, Josh had gotten hooked by the time he was eight.

"I mean, there's this one girl—Kim. I mean, I really like her. But I don't know if she likes me. I mean, maybe she does. And maybe she doesn't. I don't know, though. You know what I mean?"

Josh smiled, nodded. "Been there, my man."

"But what do I do?" Jeffrey asked. "I mean, if I ask her if she likes me, she might say no, she doesn't. But, I mean, she might say yes. And if I don't ask her, I might never know. But, I mean, damn, I'm really afraid to!"

"You know what?" Josh said. "Just ask her. You're a good-looking guy." And he was, too. Jeffrey was a cute kid. "Just show confidence in yourself, Jeff. Walk right up to her and give off the signals that you know you're worth it."

"But . . . am I?"

He thought of Monica three thousand miles away, sitting in front of her PC screen, perhaps in the dark, all the lights turned off. It was after eleven back East. Maybe she was naked. He needed to wrap this up, and quick.

"The real question," Josh said, "is . . . is she worth it? Don't let some chick get to you this way, Jeff. Just remember who you are, and proceed with confidence. If she turns you away, well, then, it's her tough luck. She's the one who's gonna suffer. You? You'll just move on to the next girl. Got it?" Yeah, do as I say, not as I do, he thought. Move on to the next girl. If Monica ultimately decided to dump him, how would he ever manage to do that?

Jeffrey shrugged, got up, ready to leave. "Thanks," he said. "It's hard to talk to Mom and Dad about this stuff. I mean, they're cool and everything. Well, I mean, not cool, but they're okay. But, you know how it is. I mean . . ."

"Yeah. I know."

"I'm glad you're home, Josh," Jeffrey said, and then left.

Josh raced to the door, closed it, and locked it.

"Okay," he typed a moment later, "I'm back. You still there?"

"Where else would I be, handsome?" was the reply.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe watching a naughty movie? Maybe in the shower, pleasuring yourself as you think of me coming deep inside of you? I'm feeling horny tonight, sexy. Don't want to talk about anything serious, okay?"

"Mmmmmmm. I'm turned on too," she wrote. The vixen. She probably had been masturbating.

He wanted her, so bad. So bad, it physically hurt. In some ways, chatting with her was like rubbing salt in the wound. It just made him miss her all the more. But he couldn't think like that. It wouldn't do any good. He had her online. He needed to make the best of it.

"Are you naked?" he asked her.

"No, but I can be," she responded, and included a wink.

"Strip, baby," he wrote. "I'm getting naked myself." And he was. He pulled off his pants and shirt, slid his briefs down his legs. His dick was semi-erect.

"K," she keyed in. "I'm not wearing anything."

God, how he wanted to look at her, touch her, make love to her.

"Squeeze your sexy tits," he wrote. "Squeeze them good and hard, and then pinch those sensitive nipples of yours."

"Mmmmm," she responded. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, and inserted a wink.

"Hehehe," she wrote back. "Ummm, let's see. How about, squeezing your penis, and then teasing the head the way you like it. Oh, Josh. I wish you were here."

The ache in his heart grew, so much so that his erection actually softened. This wasn't helping. It only made things worse. But he had to play along. He had to stop being such a killjoy.

"So do I, sexy," he wrote. "But for now, I want you to keep squeezing and pinching, okay?"

"Okay":)

"You getting wet, kinky girl?"

"I am soaking wet," she responded. "Rub your clit now. And insert your fingers into your cunt."

"Ooooh," she wrote back. "Feels wonderful. It would feel better if you were doing it, though." His erection rebounded, stiffened again, as he pictured her in her apartment, naked, her breasts heaving as her breathing quickened while she pleasured herself. He began to jerk himself off. "Go faster, sexy!" he wrote. "And don't stop till you come. I'm going at it, too. Maybe we can come together." One way for him to come was to get her to talk dirty. He always loved doing that. "What do you wish was happening right now, horny girl?" he asked her.

"Mmmmm, I wish you were here with me. I wish we were making love."

"You still fingering yourself, baby?" he wanted to know.

"Yesss," she responded. "Don't stop till you come," he told her.

"Oh I won't," she wrote. "I wish it were my hands stroking your penis right now," she went on.

"You wish my cock was deep in your pussy?" he wrote. "You wish I was fucking your tight little cunt right now?"

"Very much," she wrote.

"Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me what you wish for." He continued his assault on his dick. He was close to coming.

"I wish you were here with me," she keyed in. "I wish your beautiful cock was throbbing with heat deep inside my wet pussy. I wish I could hold you and kiss you while you fuck me. That's what I wish, Josh. I wish you were fucking me right now! Ohhhh! I'm coming!!!!!!:)"

He came, too. He squirted all over the floor. Oh well. He'd come on his floor many times before. No big deal. Just a little cleaning up to do, that's all.

"Oh dear," she wrote. "That was great, Josh. Not like the real thing, but it was nice."

"Instead of saying 'oh dear,' he wrote, "one of these times, I want you to say, 'oh fuck.'":)

She sent him a smiley face back, and said, "Hmm, well, maybe I'll surprise you one of these days, handsome."

"I love you, Monica." Somehow that was all he could say.

"I love you too, Josh," she wrote back.

They stayed on a few more minutes, then she signed off to go to bed. She told him she would sleep in the nude and that she'd think of them making love while she drifted off. . . .

*

"Hey, Josh, watcha doin' tonight?" It was Chuck Argyle, one of his old buddies from high school. They didn't talk much anymore, but whenever Chuck called, it usually meant a big party was in the offing.

"Nothing," Josh said into the phone. And that was true. Monica was spending the week at her sister's house, on Long Island, and wouldn't be available to chat online. Besides, he'd been home for nearly two months now, and he missed her outrageously. Chatting online was a poor facsimile for really being with her. Maybe it was for the best that they couldn't chat online for a few nights. And it wasn't like they were losing touch completely. They still had their cells.

It was odd, though. He still hadn't told anyone about her, and she hadn't told anyone about him, either. He wondered about that. Why were they hesitating? Why was he hesitating? Subconsciously, was he second-guessing his intention to marry her? Was that it? No. No way. He wanted her more than ever. So, then what was it? Why did she remain his secret?

"Well," Chuck Argyle went on, "have I got news for you. Jimmy's having a big soiree at his place tonight."

"Jimmy? Jimmy Crane?" Josh asked. Jimmy Crane had dropped out of school three years ago, but somehow managed to own a house. Josh guessed he made money by selling drugs. Jimmy sometimes hosted swinger parties, with plenty of pot and beer to go around. Josh had attended one of those parties last summer. If you were looking for easy, uncomplicated, NSA sex, it was the place to be.

"The one and only," Chuck said. "And, Josh, it's gonna be awesome, dude. Fifteen, maybe twenty girls are gonna be there, I hear. You can have your pick. And the ones who come with a date are lookin' to swing, so there aren't gonna be any restrictions."

"Well . . ." He was going to turn the offer down, of course he was. But then he thought about it. Maybe he should go. One last fling before getting hitched. Hell, he wasn't even engaged yet. He should have been, but Monica had to tell him to think about it more, to wait all summer. . . . Besides, if he went, that didn't mean he needed to have sex with anyone. He could just drink some free beer, maybe smoke a joint or two, and be on his way. What could it hurt?

"I'll be there," he said, and hung up. As soon as he did, he felt a pang of guilt. It didn't feel right . . . but man, he was so horny. Two months without sex, without anything at all—not even a kiss. Of course, he wouldn't kiss anyone at the party. He would just look at the girls, maybe watch a few of the couples make out and make love. Maybe, vicariously, the others' sexual play could quench some of his raging lust. But he wasn't going to so much as touch a girl at the party. *

When he arrived, the place was already buzzing. Chuck had been right—there were lots of girls. They were spread out throughout the living room, sitting on the sofa, chairs, even the floor. Some of them were topless, others wearing just a bra and panties, and several were already making out with guys. It was going to be quite a night.

"Hey, bud." It was Jimmy Crane, joint in one hand, beer can in the other. He was wearing a black leather jacket with no shirt on underneath, his hairless, thin chest exposed. "Good to see ya, Josh."

Josh nodded, and Jimmy offered him a puff of the joint he was smoking. Josh accepted, and coughed when he inhaled. He hadn't smoked weed in months, wasn't used to it. Jimmy chuckled, and walked away, disappearing in the bowels of the smoke-filled house.

Scanning the room, Josh looked for people he knew. There was Chuck, kissing an anorexic-looking blonde on the sofa, his hands hidden underneath her shirt. But Chuck was it. No one else looked familiar, which surprised him. He seemed to be losing touch with his hometown more each year.

"Hey there," a husky voice said from behind. He turned. There was a voluptuous brunette, with thick glasses and a dark California tan. "Hi," Josh said.

"I saw you walk in," the girl said, having to speak up. Someone had just blasted some heavy metal music from Jimmy's CD player in the corner. "You're cute."

And then she kissed him. Just like that, her tongue was in his mouth, her arms around his neck.

He pulled away, but noticed, to his embarrassment, that an erection was forming. He was even hornier than he had feared.

"Sorry," he said. "I . . . uhh . . ."

She just shook her head, mumbling to herself, and left. He told himself to get lost, he didn't belong here. Nothing but trouble, regrets, could come from his being here. But he stayed where he was.

Chuck was naked now, and so was the Twiggy-esque blonde he was with. They were 69ing each other, right there on the couch. Another couple, seated on the floor beneath them, was having sex. At least half the room was naked now, and the moans of lovemaking were getting louder. It made him think of the masquerade orgy scene in Eyes Wide Shut. Except here, in Jimmy Crane's place, nobody was wearing a mask.

He spotted an empty chair, off in a far corner of the room. He went to it, sat down, hoping to escape the notice of the others. "Why am I here?" he asked himself. Was he waiting for something to happen? If so, what? He realized, too, that he was missing Monica more than ever, amid the naked flesh and sighs and moans all around him. "This is fucking stupid," he said aloud, and was about to stand up and the get the heck out of there.

But just then, a low voice, barely audible above the music and group lovemaking, said, "Mind if I join you?"

A thin, petite Japanese girl, with dark-green eyes and long, straight black hair stood before him. She was exquisite—one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. In spite of himself, he felt his penis spring fully to life. Rock-hard, it formed a noticeable tent in his jeans.

"Uhhh, no, go right ahead," he said, not sure what she meant by "joining" him. In a moment, he had his answer. She sat down on his lap, her back against his chest, her long hair flowing before his face. Her hair smelled wonderful, like the woods after a rainfall—fresh and flower-filled, brimming with sweet spices. He was stunned at his arousal. He only wanted to be with Monica. Why was he so turned on by this Japanese girl?

"Hey, you wanna go somewhere a little more private?" she asked.