The Ice Cherry

Yes, those were the words I delivered for the oral portion of my Tree Club project. Short and sweet, but it did the trick. Half my grade was in the bag. Now, all that remained was to put the bastard to bed.

Uncle William came through. Six kegs of beer. No, it wasn't the best brew, but it would do. With six kegs we could assure ourselves a spot in valley lore for high school generations to come.

We'd barely put Katie's family heirlooms away and hung the decorations when people started showing up. It was clear early, word had gotten around. Kids all the way from Sedona were making appearances, and even Prescott. I don't know what's in the Prescott water, but the boys grow up very big. At about nine, this kid, Kyle, was hitting on me pretty aggressively. He kept refilling my beer as if I wouldn't realize what that strategy was meant to achieve.

The trouble with Prescott boys is this: they can talk about stupid stuff, hold a pair of non-sequitur conversations—each meaningless—as if they were delegates negotiating both sides of a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, when in reality, they may be talking about nothing more stimulating than, oh, say, what kind of beer is in the keg…It's all banter, I suppose. Tomorrow, you could ask a dick what he discussed the night before. A Dick remembers one thing—pussy. And in the winter, don't ask me why, it's a hundred times worse. Something about Christmas Pussy, I guess. I mean, seriously, why do you think there are so many babies born in July and August?

As girls, we have absolutely zero delusions about what they're after with the boring talk. It's like this—detain, corner and distract her for as long as possible, so other boys have no chance to view the merchandise. Must have all the right people see that he's got us engaged. I think it's some sort of male-turf thing, and you know they'd piss a circle around us if marking territory was socially acceptable.

Right. So, next he tries to lull her into a trance with his oh-so-romantic pick-up lines. Of course, that includes praying he's got her drunk enough to compromise her better judgment. In the end, though, the only way something is going to happen?—she's decided a long time ago: yeah, okay, I'm fucking tonight.

This guy, Kyle, was doing all that and his best. He finally followed me to the bathroom and asked if he could come in with me. I was bored by then, so I figured it was time to confuse the poor fool.

"Ew. You want to watch me wipe my ass? That's sick."

He was so caught off-guard. "No, uh, wait. I meant, after," he stammered. "Just—let's, I don't know, do something crazy."

"Gross," I said. "I'm not letting you watch me flush."

His jaw dropped, but I'd already shut the door in his face. I laughed as I sat down on the toilet. Boys. What a joke. But after only a minute, I was ready to cry. Oh, I was a fine mess.

I used to like a boy. A lot. Jeremy. God, he was beautiful. Easily the most handsome, tender guy in school. He knew exactly how to treat a woman. He had to be an alien. We used to stop off at the Burger Shack. He's buy me fries and a shake, and we'd drive down to the river and hang out in his dad's old drop-top convertible, rusted blue and unforgettable. I never felt any pressure when I was with Jeremy. He'd just recline in the driver's seat and watch the leaves blow in the breeze. The best thing was that I could watch him, and he never minded. Never looked over and frowned or made me stop. I knew exactly what he was, just because I could look openly at his beautiful face and carefree expression.

The sex—I used to tell people it was the greatest experience of my life. Kind of lame. Especially considering it's the only time I've had it. But, you know how they say the first time sucks? Well, that's not the case with me. With Jeremy. It was great. Really.

I'd sat there on the toilet, listening to the muffled party sounds droning through the door from outside. I felt strangely detached. School was ending, but that wasn't it. I was like a spectator to everything, even my fucked up and forged emotions, something I'd seen in a movie once. I fished my cell phone out of my back pocket and called my mom.

"Mom?"

"I'm fine, mom."

"No. Everything is fine."

"He is? No, I'll see if I can get Mr. Smith to give us a Christmas tree for free."

I closed my eyes to stave off emotion. "Yes, mom. I know it's tradition."

He was spending a lot of nights at the office again. At least, that's what my mother is buying. He's depressed, she says. There's no money, and he's got so much weighing on his mind, she tells me. That's the crap she buys wholesale. And she tells me like it's going to hopefully convince one of us.

"I will mom." And because of the sound in her voice, I started to cry. I couldn't hang up, even though that's all I really wanted. "I don't know when I'll be home."

"Nothing. It's great—I miss you."

"I do, Mom. I promise."

"No, he doesn't. Mother, he doesn't."

"I have to go. I'm sorry. I have to go."

I took control of myself in the mirror. But who was that girl staring back? Katie's nail file was on the edge of the sink. I saw my mind play a sequence of events in super-fast-motion. In them, a girl a lot like me picked up the file and slid it into a vein in her neck. I blinked a couple times. Katie took such care of her nails. Why did I constantly bit mine? Oh, well.

When I opened the door, Kyle was propped up against the wall. His eyes were dull and droopy. An instant before, he probably would not have been able to tell a passerby why he was standing there, but when he saw me, he remembered why he was staking out the bathroom. He managed to straighten himself up and do a little thing that must have been an attempt at appearing hunky. It wasn't working.

"Baby," he started. I was suddenly so tired. I made to push past him, but he grabbed my shoulders, laughed and leaned on me. Then he wrapped one of those huge arms around me and pulled me into the bathroom.

"Kyle," I laughed, tapping his arm and trying on a joke. "I already flushed, buddy. You missed the show."

He closed the door and leaned heavily against it. His eyes were steely and cold, even if his words weren't meant to be. "You're so cute and funny, Cherry."

"Okay," I said, experiencing at that precise moment an inconvenient urge to yawn.

"How come," he began, "we don't have girls like you in my town?"

My back tightened. I didn't have anything clever to say. "I don't know."

"Yeah," he continued. "They're all bitches up there. See," he said, stepping forward and staggering close, towering over me. "I think you're probably the hottest girl in the county. I mean," he stopped to burp, "that's a pretty good compliment, don't you think?"

I stared at his chest. It was so fucking wide, and my vision was closing in. He was a bear, like on a nature channel. Something capable of every kind of pain it cared to pursue. I couldn't tell if I was shaking, but my vision was blurring.

"Here we are," he said.

"Kyle," I said. I sounded like a mouse. "You're nice but—"

"And I've never seen a girl with such red lips. Lollipop lips." His breathing was heavy, bear heavy. "I like that top."

"Let's go back to the party."

"Okay," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. I swallowed and exhaled. "But let's get fucking crazy first." His tone was no longer suggestive.

I looked up at him, not really seeing him. Just eyes. Big black bear eyes. He would be so strong. I could shout or scream, but that would ruin everything. There would be uncontrollable crying, and the boys would be mad. The girls would look at me like I'd asked for it. People might stop talking to me and I'd have to…leave again.

Fuck that. I clenched my fists. Fuck that, and fuck everybody and their stupid-ass opinion. Nobody gives a shit what happens to anybody.

I could do what he wanted. I could just kiss him. Make out some, just nothing more. But as I looked at him, I knew better. His body reeked of want, his breath was charged. I knew his little brain had no shut-off switch once those bunched up muscles got to going.

I dug my nails into my palm until it hurt. I'm goddamn Cherry Langton, by God.

"I want to do something special for you," I said quickly.

Kyle grinned. I focus on that foolish grinning mouth of us. Boy, not bear. "Really?" he said.

"Yeah." I stepped around him, taking his hand and leading him to the center of the bathroom. Then I moved behind him and put my arms around his broad body. He was facing the mirror, and we both watched the image of my hands moving down to his fly.

It didn't feel awkward, but strangely natural when I took his cock from his underwear. He was hard, but getting harder still, and I saw the glaze coat his eyes as I touched and tugged on him. I could hear the change in his breath.

"In the cabinet," I said. He opened it. He retrieved a bottle of lotion and I let him squirt a dollop into my hand. When I touched him again, he groaned.

"Cherry," he whispered. "You're the hottest bitch ever."

"You promise?" I said, putting my cheek to his back.

"Oh, yeah."

I squished my hands through the lotion, rubbing it into his dick, feeling the head become broader.

The first time had been in the dark. I'd never seen it before I felt him. I just don't know how something like that could fit inside.

I played with Kyle's balls. I'd read in Cosmo that they liked that. I peeked out from behind him. He was staring at us in the mirror, watching me do him, and I leveled my gaze on his expressive face. I owned this mother fucker.

"Look at us," I whispered with all the honey-laden succulence I could possess.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Look at your big cock in my little hand."

"Oh," he groaned. "I'm big, right?"

"You knew," I said.

"Yeah."

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah."

He was trying to focus. Trying, but not too hard. I was still jerking him, faster than before.

"I didn't want to do anything with you," I said. He lifted his gaze. He was trying to read me. "I didn't," I repeated. "But you wanted it bad."

He seemed unsure, but unable to wake from his dream. "It's so good.

I grinned. "You weren't going to let me out unless I gave you a little something."

"Baby," he groaned. "I wanted this."

"You really did."

"Oh, yeah."

"Thought, all she needed was a little coaxing, a little encouragement." I jerked him harder, squeezed and squished up and down the shaft and over the spongy head, causing him to lurch.

He swallowed hard. "You wanted it, too. Just…just playing hard to get."

I pushed my left hand beneath his scrotum, fingered his perineum. That was supposed to perform some sort of miracle. His eyes went immediately glassy. "How do you know what a girl wants?"

"I…" he hissed. "I just—I could tell."

"Even when she says something different. You just knew?"

"Yeah, Cherry. Oh."

A crystal-clear bead of pre-come was stretching from his cock to where it stuck to the bathroom sink.

"Getting close?" I asked him.

"So…so."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Close your eyes."

He was unsure. "Huh?"

"I want you to picture…you know, like this isn't my hand. I'll talk to you."

He blinked once, then obeyed. My left hand snaked out from between his legs, but my right jerked faster.

"So tight," he breathed.

"Yes," I cooed. "Because you're so big. Too big for me."

I leaned against him. My free hand drew open the nearby drawer. It was just right.

"Is it nice inside?" I asked him.

"So good. I want…I want to come inside you, Cherry."

"I don't know," I whispered. "It could be dangerous for us."

"Just," he moaned and undulated in my hand. "Just, let me get it, baby."

I looked in the mirror at his pathetic reflection and shook my head. Mom had no idea what that man was capable of, why I couldn't go home. I stared at the nail file resting there in the drawer. It was sharp, gleaming in the vanity light.

"Cherry," he whined. "I'm so close."

I smiled. "Me, too, baby," I cooed with pure syrup.

"Cherry?"

"Oh, sweetie. Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I really like you. I want this so bad."

I breathed deeply, and reached into the drawer. My hand was slippery and I slid my fingers along the length of it as I clutched it tightly.

"This is gonna feel so good," I whispered.

"Yes!" he groaned. I could feel it. It was incredible. His cock was swelling, the veins pulsing in my hand. With my left, I teased the crack of his ass with my pinkie finger. He sucked in and gulped. I drew back and took aim, and just as he climaxed I shoved one of Katie's tampons right into his asshole.

He batted my hand away from his dick and took hold of it, jerking furiously, squirting long, fascinating white ropes into the sink. They sprayed over the counter as he groaned, head thrown back and teeth gritted. I took a step back, raised my cell phone and snapped a picture. Captured in still beauty like a fucking freak of nature, there was Kyle Cedar of Prescott Valley High, jerking his wad all over my friend's mirror, a tampon sticking out of his ass.

When he turned around, I was ready. "Don't move, don't fucking even look at me," I said, firmly. "I press send and everyone in my contact list gets a picture of this. You ever fucking come near me again, even mention that you've ever met me, and I'll see to it that two counties full of people know what kind of shit you're into, Cupcake."

With that, I left him in the bathroom to sort the rest of his life out.

When I found my friend, Tawnee Sable, she was practically pouring herself all over Dillon. Tawnee's gorgeous, one of the more beautiful girls in school, with a wild black mane that usually spills over her shoulders like some kind of exotic waterfall. Tonight, she'd gone with curls, having heard that, yes, Dillon was all about them. Only, it wasn't exactly her curls he was nuts for.

"Cherry," he called when I came out of the kitchen with a fresh beer I had no intention of actually drinking. He was holding two cups, and Tawnee was leaning on him, playing the part of tipsy-and-willing. "Oh," he said as I drew near. "I guess you already got one."

"Isn't he sweet?" said Tawnee. "He went and got me one, too."

"What a feat," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the numerous kegs scattered like landmines about the house, amid the holiday revelers. Then, glancing through the dining room window, I said,

"What are those geniuses doing?"

"Oh," said Tawnee. "Some of the boys got drunk enough that they decided they would build the world's largest snowman."

"Yeah," I groaned. "There's no way Katie's parents will know she had a party while they were away." Dillon and Tawnee laughed. "What is it about us small-towners? We always have to make the biggest this and the biggest that. Are we really so ashamed of being from a town where nobody from the outside comes to visit?" They both looked at me strangely.

"So," said Dillon. "One down, five to go."

"You finished?"

"Yeah, but it's going to be hell digging five more, Cherry. Seriously."

"Five more, what?" slurred Tawnee.

"Actually, Dill," I replied. "I'm going to let you off the hook. I've decided one is enough."

"But your project—"

"I'm not worried. I don't need to ace the project, per se."

"So," said Dillon. "What college are you planning to attend?"

"I'm going to ASU," Tawnee gushed. "What about you, Dill?"

"U of A," he said conversationally, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Oh! We'll, like, totally be neighbors. We'll have to party all the time."

"Yeah," he said. "Cherry?"

"SYU," I replied, looking at the gushing torrent of sex that was Tawnee. There was a girl who'd woke this morning having made up her mind. Her legs were smooth, her pussy was bald, and she was getting fucked tonight. For his part, her victim didn't seem to have a clue.

"Syracuse?" asked Dillon.

Tawnee burst out laughing. "Are you kidding, Dillon? It's a big joke to her. SYU? Screw You University."

Dillon laughed. "Oh, ha-ha."

Nope," she droned. "Cherry's staying put. Right here in the good old Verde Valley. Aren't you, Cher?"

"You know it," I said without looking at her. "No aspirations for me."

The party died down a little after two o'clock. I had planned on crashing with Tawnee that night, but she'd passed out on Katie's sofa. So much the better. Instead, I helped clean house. That's a chore best employed while you're drunk and don't care. You laugh and feel good. It feels less like actual work.

"She's out," said Katie, lifting Tanwee's arm and letting it fall. "Poor thing. She was trying as hard as she could to get on Dillon. It's so sad how even the beautiful people get desperate around Christmastime."

"Well, she got him down to his socks at least." I pointed to the door where I'd placed a pair of sneakers. "How do you suppose he made off without them?"

Katie laughed. "Didn't want to leave a trail so Tawnee could find him."

I started to laugh, but then I shut my mouth and gazed at his shoes. Yeah. A trail. Like breadcrumbs.

"He was pretty drunk," Katie said with a smirk. "Cute boy, but what a dork. Um," she paused, picking up an ashtray full of beer. "actually, all boys, don't you think?"

"Yes!"I shouted. I had an overwhelming urge to show her the picture of the Prescott Valley douche who'd accosted me in the bathroom, but as much as I loved her, Katie was a bit of a mouth.

"What about you?" she said. "You've been spending a lot of time with Dillon, lately."

"It's nothing," I shrugged. "He's been digging me a hole."

"Ah, that's what we're calling it nowadays."

The two of us cracked up. I really liked her. We didn't get to hang out as much this past year. She was trying desperately to get into Stanford to study Forensic Psychology, and it seemed like every other day was filled with applications, visits and interviews. We'd tried to make up for it during the last few weeks. You can imagine how surprised I was when she offered to host the biggest winter party in the history of our class.

"How you getting home?" she asked when we'd gotten the place tidied.

"My ride is passed out on your sofa."

"Oh, oops. Well, I'd say you could crash on the couch again, but…"

We both eyed Tawnee's splayed figure. Her leg was draped over the back of the sofa, crotch exposed for the world to avoid.

"Oh, Tawnee," I muttered.

"Well, whatever," said Katie. "My bed's huge. You don't kick do you?"

"Not that I know of," I said.

Her bed was big. Enormous. And my God, never in my life had I ever felt something so soft. While she was finishing up in the bathroom, I passed out almost immediately.

He was in my dream again. He'd tried to…try. That would be nice if those moments were limited to attempts. He'd been feeling me up since I got breasts. Before Mom started staying at home, it was almost a daily occurrence. I'd come home and he'd be there, eating a sandwich, milk jug perched on the counter beside him.

He'd come into my room and start talking about ridiculous stuff. Almost nothing separated him from the boys at a party, already half-soused on beer. Only he was stone sober. Sit there at my desk and stare. Fathers are supposed to respect their daughter's privacy. They're supposed to ask how her day was, what she did, what she learned. Then they leave her alone. They don't ogle, sit stone-still with a stupid expression and think it's funny when she's grossed out by it.

I'd come home later and left the house earlier. He'd started pushing Mom around, threatening her body. Should a daughter have to console her mother when she's crying, fresh bruises on her chin? When you live in a town so small, how stupid can you be to fuck around and not expect them to find out? But then again, she's never left. So, who's the stupid one?