Boyfriend Material Ch. 02

"You're going back down there this weekend?" Rory's friend asked him, looking somewhat skeptical.

"Yeah," Rory nodded, taking a sip of his beer.

"Sounds like it's getting serious," Dave commented. He was happy for his friend. He just didn't like how Rory's weekly trips back to campus this summer were cutting into time for band practice.

"I... yeah, I like her a lot."

Dave smirked at Rory's understatement. "So, you tapped that ass yet?"

Rory just scowled in response. Dave grinned and took a slug of his own beer. Typical Rory. He knew his friend was as horny as the next guy, but he insisted on maintaining this golden boy facade, and he seemed to want the same thing out of the girls that he dated.

Rory, for his part, was suppressing a grin. No, he acknowledged to himself; he hadn't "tapped that ass" yet. But damn, did Kelly have an ass worth tapping. He hoped that that was where this new relationship was heading. He just didn't want to take it too fast, or appear disrespectful. Kelly was pretty, and smart, and sweet. Definitely the kind of girl you bring home to mama.

And she definitely seemed to be into him. She laughed at his jokes and engaged him smartly in conversations about classes and movies and world events. He had never heard her swear, but she didn't blush or get offended when he let one slip. Just like she had never objected or stopped him when he took the next small step toward intimacy, like cupping her breast through her blouse, or unbuttoning her shirt and opening her demure front-clasping bra to gently caress the sensitive nub of her still-unseen nipple. They seemed to be on the same wavelength that way. Indeed, if he had tried to unzip her jeans and slip his hand into her panties on the third date, he would have been a bit disappointed if she had let him. He didn't know if she was a virgin, and he hadn't asked, and going into their senior year of college, he rather thought it would be unusual if she was. And that was okay. He just didn't want her to be a slut.

He wasn't a virgin. But he still felt kind of bad that he had taken his previous girlfriend's virginity, and then things hadn't worked out. He didn't want Kelly to think of him as a slut, or whatever the male equivalent of a slut was, either. Kelly, he was thinking, was special. He wanted her to think he was special, too.

***

Rory settled into bed in his little bedroom under the stairs. When he had headed off to college his little brother had taken over the other bedroom, but that was fine; he found this little cubby to be quite comfortable and secure.

It was only 10 PM, but he was plenty tired, and the 5:30 alarm waking him for the early shift at his summer job would come soon enough. He thought about pulling out a notebook and writing Kelly a short letter, but realized it probably wouldn't get to her before he saw her again on Saturday, anyway.

And 10 o'clock was too late to call her. Plus, he had already called her once this week. Long distance calls were expensive, and his parents didn't object, but he didn't want multiple calls a week to cause them to start monitoring him.

So he propped himself up against the headboard and reached for the notebook, and started sketching her from memory. High forehead, beneath her white-blonde hair, cut in a cute bob, parted on her right, his left. Her arched eyebrows, sketched lightly to capture the same light coloring. Eyes wide and expressive, lashes long but faint, almost ephemeral; irises also rendered carefully to reflect their pale blueness around the stone-black pupils.

Her cute little upturned nose, hard to capture in this front-facing view. He frowned at his failure, but moved on to draw her mouth, her perfect pink cupid-bow lips, the bottom one especially full. Then he added the little blemish -- a beauty mark, he preferred to think of it -- on her cheek. The imperfection on this princess that made her real.

He hadn't left himself room on the page to go below her shoulders, her regal collarbones. That was okay. He could picture her breasts, inside her blouse of course; small and pert and sitting wide on her chest, leaving almost no cleavage to draw attention to herself. It would be disrespectful to draw them, at any rate.

He put the notebook on his nightstand and turned out the light. He was hard, and he gripped his erection. But he couldn't masturbate to thoughts of Kelly. That would be disrespectful, too.

In the eight years since he had first stroked himself all the way to his first orgasm, he had never been able to sully the images of girls that he liked by mere self-abuse. It just seemed wrong. So he put the girls on whom had crushes on pedestals, and only allowed himself to jerk off to fantasies about the bad girls, the sluts and town pumps and even adulterous married women who might seduce him and let him have his nasty emissions -- well, not guilt-free, but at least without defiling the good girls.

Even Maria, his first serious college girlfriend, the girl to whom he had lost his virginity -- he had never jerked off to her until after they had had sex, until he had her consent to think of her sexually.

And even then, it hadn't quite felt right. Not until after they had broken up; after he had put two and two together and he had realized that she had cheated on him on spring break. With a German foreign exchange student, in a cheap Fort Lauderdale hotel room. Then, broken-hearted, he had been able to flog himself relentlessly, every night for weeks, to the image of Maria's dark hair falling over the other guy's taut stomach, her hands and her mouth moving up and down over what had doubtless been an enormous schlong (of course, it must have been; he needed the image to feed his angst), long and veiny and uncircumcised, pulsing and ejaculating between the lips that he had kissed so often and so lovingly.

So that's what he did tonight, until he spurted into the kleenex, reveling in the humiliation and the shame as he imagined Gunther grunting his copious release into Maria's mouth. The guilt lingered for several minutes afterwards, and he told himself he would never do that again, until his breathing returned to normal and he rolled onto his side and let sleep overtake him. But at least he hadn't sullied his image of the honorable and adorable Kelly.

***

"So, how's Rory?" Malcolm asked.

Kelly sighed and broke off eye contact with the guy she was spending way too much time with, her big brother's obnoxious best friend. "He's fine," she answered, reluctantly.

"Did you have a date with him this weekend?" he prodded.

"Uh huh."

"So that's what, four? Getting pretty serious."

"Mal..." she started to say. She didn't want to talk about the new guy she was dating, but Malcolm was insistent. And used to getting what he wanted.

"And I wasn't even here this weekend to check in on you," Malcolm continued. That was true. One of his favorite games was telling her that her big brother "wanted him to keep an eye on little sister" for him. But Malcolm had gone to Toledo this weekend to see his fiancé. "So, did you fuck him?"

"Shut up," she scowled. Then, after a pause, "No."

Mal didn't respond to that; at least, not verbally. But she noted the lopsided grin on his face. And the way he leaned back on his haunches and pulled her legs up, hooking his elbows under the crooks of her knees, and then shoved his cock into her even deeper than before.

She closed her eyes and threw her head back against the mattress, baring her throat to him, as she had already bared her pale white breasts and her pretty pink pussy.

"So tell me about your date," he said.

"Ungh."

She had never been one for talking during sex, and especially not when the guy had an extra-thick cock and was driving the air out of her lungs from below. But she seemed to do a lot of things with Malcolm that she didn't usually do.

She opened her eyes and stared up into the young man's smirking face, noting the way they were able to lock eyes even while they both rocked up and down, rhythmically. In synch. Damn it.

"We went... to Pizza Barn," she told him. "They had that... jazz combo."

"Nice," Malcolm nodded. He was familiar. He had been there before, with Kelly and her brother. One more thing he got to experience before this new kid, Rory, did.

"What kind of pizza did you get?"

She barked out a jagged laugh at the absurdity of the question, cut short when his latest thrust suddenly bottomed out in her.

"Supreme," she conceded after a moment.

"Yeah, thanks, I know," he chortled, beginning to lengthen his strokes.

She rolled her eyes, but nonetheless wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. Damn him, she thought. She hated the idea that sex with this arrogant, entitled bastard was so good and so fun.

He still had her folded in half underneath him, and now she could feel the full weight of him on top of her, powerful, intimidating. He was no longer using his arms to hold himself up, and she could feel one of his hands caressing her bottom, the other snaking between them to envelop one breast.

"Did he order you a Coke?"

"Uhhh," Kelly grunted in reply. It was weird and somehow titillating to be asked such mundane questions in such an illicit position. "We split... a pitcher... of beer."

"I didn't think he was old enough," Malcolm taunted, beginning to rotate his hips, churning her insides with his cock.

"He just turned... 21," she admitted, feeling guilty about sharing any personal information about the boy that she really did like, that she really could see as boyfriend material. Malcolm wasn't boyfriend material. He was fucking engaged, for Christ's sake. Not that she would actually date him if he was unattached. Other than the physical ones, he had few attractive qualities. Certainly not faithfulness.

"Did you bring him back to your room?" Malcolm asked.

"Uh huh," she acknowledged. At the moment, this time, she was in Malcolm's room, in Malcolm's bed. The bed he shared with his fiancé, when she was in town. She felt another twinge of shame, but it faded quickly as she felt herself building toward another orgasm.

"But you didn't fuck him," Malcolm insisted.

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"Malcolm!" she protested. But she didn't say no. She could definitely imagine it. She had definitely thought about it. Rory was sweet, and cute, and he respected her. Unlike Malcolm. But Malcolm was just so hard to say no to.

"You gonna keep fucking me once you do?" Malcolm insisted.

The asshole! "No..." she replied, wishing she sounded more decisive than she figured she did.

"Huh. 'Cuz you're such a good... girl," he grunted, emphasizing the last two words with a pair of extra-vigorous thrusts into her. Mocking thrusts.

Asshole! She thought. Who was he to tease her about being good or bad? She had had sex with three previous boyfriends, in a series of monogamous relationships. She had never cheated on any of them; never considered it. And in the five months she had been sleeping with her big brother's best friend, she hadn't seriously dated anyone else. So. Malcolm was a fuck buddy, she told herself, and while she felt guilty about knowing that he was cheating, she had no expectation that this was more than a temporary fling. She didn't want it to be. She knew that when it was over, he would move on without a single regret, and so would she.

She didn't even know yet if Rory wanted to be in a monogamous intimate relationship with her. All the signs indicated that he did, that he was that kind of guy, the kind of guy she imagined in her future -- smart, cute, funny, loyal. She found Malcolm's entitlement offensive, but she couldn't focus on how wrong it was, because she was cumming again. She felt her toes curling, her legs tensing around him, the sensation of clench-and-release exploding through her body, and by the time she felt herself relaxing again, she could feel him holding himself still deep inside her and pumping her full of his semen.

She lay plastered underneath him as he caught his breath, her knees still pinned up near her shoulders, her fingers spread across his broad shoulder blades. Just when his weight was beginning to be oppressive, she felt him releasing the iron grasp he had had on her buttocks, and moving to get up on his elbows. She looked down and watched with amusement at how his mostly-hairless chest slowly peeled apart from her own; how her breasts stayed glued to his pectorals for a moment before loosening their grip.

He looked down at her with his goofy lopsided grin. Then he kissed her.

She met his lips with hers, let him part them, allowed his tongue to slip into her mouth, even though the gesture struck her as somehow more intimate, and wrong, than the fact that his bare penis was still softening inside her semen-soaked vagina. She could taste the liquor on his breath, as well as her own slight onion-and-vinegar tang from when he had gone down on her before mounting her.

They never kissed before or outside of sex; but once he was having his way with her, she let him have his way with her.

She liked kissing Rory better. Rory's kisses started soft and sweet. They eventually became passionate, but his passion was tempered with gentleness, even as they got longer and deeper. His explorations were full of wonder and appreciation. She could sense him seeking consent before every new flick of his tongue.

Malcolm's kisses were as direct and invasive as his fucking. They just didn't give her orgasms. Still, she allowed him to explore her mouth with his rigid tongue for a moment, and then watched him as he dismounted her, slipping wetly out of her body, and reclined beside her, smug and satisfied.

"So, how was your weekend with Linda?" she asked him, with a smirk of her own. Once her fever had broken, she kind of liked teasing him, feeling she could give as good as she got.

It didn't work, though, because Malcolm had no shame. "Good," he shrugged. Far from appearing chastised, he just reached out and absent-mindedly tweaked her nipple, as cavalierly entitled to her body as ever.

Kelly abruptly turned over on her stomach, as if to hide her small breasts and her white-blonde pubic mound from him, and cradled her head on her crossed forearms and frowned at him. Unperturbed, Malcolm just moved his hand down to her nearest buttock, and grasped it instead.

"Don't you feel bad about it?" she finally asked.

Malcolm didn't respond, but she noticed he wasn't making eye contact with her, either. His eyes were drifting down over her naked back, to where his hand was caressing her bottom, slowly and almost gently.

"Apparently not," she muttered in answer to her own question.

"Why are you asking?" he eventually replied.

Kelly furrowed her brow. She wasn't sure, actually.

"Do you, like, have an 'arrangement?'" she asked.

Malcolm made eye contact with her. "Sorry," he said. "No 'Get Out of Hell Free' card here."

"So your fiancé doesn't know."

Malcolm propped his head on his right arm, without removing his left from Kelly's ass. "Would you rather she did?"

Kelly grimaced. "Well, not specifically," she said. "I'd just feel better if I didn't think I was hurting someone."

Malcolm sighed. Empathy wasn't his strong suit, Kelly thought. She thought he was getting ready to say something like, "We've been fucking for four months, Kell. You're just now feeling guilty? This isn't about Linda, it's about Rory, isn't it?"

But that's not what he said. Instead, he offered, "People believe what they want to believe, baby."

Jesus, Kelly, thought, the bastard wasn't as thick-headed as he pretended. His comment struck her as insightful. Linda wanted to believe she was marrying a good guy -- a bit brash and loud and self-absorbed, but decent. Rory wanted to believe he was dating a princess. Malcolm wanted to believe he could have everything he wanted -- a woman who wanted to marry him, and his best friend's hot little sister on the side. What did she want to believe?

"Is he coming back down again this weekend?" Malcolm asked, still annoyingly focused on the boy she was starting to date. Oh, yeah. That's the other thing Malcolm wanted, she realized. He wanted to cuckold the nice guy that deserved better.

She just shook her head, as if to discourage him from pursuing this. But, as always, she yielded. "Saturday." And then she added, "And, no, you can't wait for me in my bed afterwards."

Malcolm pursed his lips and nodded. "So, what're you doing on Friday night?"