Trouble

I've got a real history of going looking for trouble. That's what dawned on me the next day, as I gathered my tangled hair into a ponytail and wiggled myself back into my jeans. I had come looking for trouble, hadn't I? I knew what would happen if I came here, but I did it anyway. The truth was, I wanted this, and as I gathered my belongings, I felt a thrill of excitement at the memory of the night prior.

It began a couple weeks earlier, when I had driven to visit my friend Doug, who lived in a college town about an hour from home. He had been asking me to come for ages, but I kept putting it off. Finally, I relented and drove out to spend the night. While there, a few of his fraternity brothers stopped by to have a few drinks and say hello. I was surprised to learn that several of his brothers were guys I had known in high school, and downright shocked to discover that one of them was Kyle.

Kyle and I met at the mall when I was a sophomore in high school and he was a senior. We dated for a few weeks, but broke up in typically dramatic adolescent fashion. We hadn't kept in touch, and this was my first time seeing him in 5 years. I was pleased to see that college had been good for him. His rust brown hair that glinted red in the June sunlight was shorter now, but still a little shaggy. He had grown a full, thick beard, which framed his boyish smile wonderfully. His deep brown eyes still crinkled at the edges when he laughed. I had forgotten how charming his laugh could be.

I was also very pleased that laughter was his response when I commented on the fact that he was still wearing the same sweatshirt he had when I knew him in high school. We fell quickly into a back-and-forth, ribbing one another like old friends. He commented that I still hadn't grown since high school, and I blushed and shrugged. He was about 5'7", and in flip flops, I came to his shoulder.

The group of us had a few beers and the group of brothers decided to leave. As they were departing, Kyle told me we should catch up sometime. In true mid-aughts fashion, I told him to look me up on AOL Instant Messenger or Facebook. They departed, and my friend and I resumed drinking and playing along to Jeopardy. I put the earlier encounter out of my mind entirely. The next morning, I drove home and slept for a few more hours before getting up to shower.

I turned on my laptop and carried it into the bathroom so I could have music while I applied makeup and dried my hair. As I carefully applied eyeliner, trying to make myself look more well-rested and less hungover than I was, I heard the telltale ping of a message. I glanced over, expecting a friend wanting to make plans or my boyfriend wanting to catch up, but instead seeing a message invitation from an unknown username. I accepted, and quickly saw that it was Kyle.

Well, that was unexpected! I finished my eyeliner and replied. We messaged back and forth, mostly catching up on what was going on with both of us. I had just finished my sophomore year of college and was off to study abroad in the fall. He had finished student teaching and was graduating college with an offer to be a high school history teacher. I laughed at the idea of him teaching and teased him about having grown the beard so he would look more like a teacher than a student. We continued like that, catching up and giving each other a hard time until I finished getting ready. I signed off and walked downstairs, smiling a little.

I caught my reflection in the mirror in the foyer and noticed the smile. I had just been catching up with an old friend, I rationalized. We probably wouldn't talk again, and he lived an hour away. I was unlikely to run into him. There was no need to mention this to anyone. Of course, if I ever follow my own advice, I should be handsomely rewarded.

My first mistake was casually mentioning it to my mother, who cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. My second mistake was mentioning it to my boyfriend during our nightly conversation. He was living at home for the summer, more than two hours away. We saw each other about every three or four weeks, and talked daily. Well, really it was more like we fought daily.

Today, apparently, we were going to fight about my ex-boyfriend. I explained that Kyle and I had broken up years ago and that we hadn't dated for very long at all. It was nothing, just running into an old friend. It wasn't as if we had been hanging out alone. We just happened to have overlap in our social circles. My boyfriend seemed satisfied by this answer, at least for tonight. I didn't think it was necessary to mention my follow up conversation with Kyle. It would probably just cause more yelling, and I had no energy to deal with that.

I woke up the next morning, a Sunday, expecting to spend the day lounging at the pool, enjoying one of my few days off. While I had breakfast, I flipped my laptop open and began killing some time. A few minutes passed, and there I noticed a message from Kyle. So much for a one-time conversation! I absentmindedly replied to his messages while checking my email and social media accounts. I was eager to get outside and spend some time in the sun, so I told him I had to go. He asked if my cell phone was still the same number, and I told him it was. He told me he would text me instead.

Maybe that was the moment I realized this was more than just "catching up," but I can convince myself of almost anything. In this case, I convinced myself that it was just that we had matured enough to treat each other as friends, instead of exes. I was mentally talking myself through this logic while I applied sunscreen and settled into a lounge chair.

Satisfied with my explanation for his behavior, I began examining my lightly tanned skin. I was a little disappointed that I was still so fair and it was already June. During the winter, I'm very light-skinned, with pale olive undertones. Once I've been in the sun, my Mediterranean roots become evident and my skin develops a deep glow. The golden tones in my skin accentuate every muscle, making me appear more athletic than I really am. In my mind, when I've had enough time in the sun, my toned legs appear longer and my taut stomach appears more muscled. I weighed less than a hundred pounds, and with a summery glow, I thought I looked lithe and sexy rather than just skinny. I estimated that after a full day in the sun, I'd be perfectly golden.

As I studied my body, I felt a gentle buzz under my right thigh. I slipped my cell phone out and found a message from an unfamiliar number. A frisson of excitement as I guessed (correctly) that it was Kyle. I balanced texting him with sending out quick missives to friends, reading, napping, and swimming.

"What are you up to today?" he eventually messaged.

Shit. Was he in town? Did he want to get together? That could be dangerous, and I hadn't prepared for things to go this way. This was just supposed to be friendly conversation, maybe a little flirting. I decided I could control the outcome, but still get the rush of knowing someone wants me.

"I'm laying out at the pool, then going out with some friends."

I felt my heartbeat speed up ever so slightly while I typed. I wondered if he would be imagining me in a swimsuit. We had hooked up only once in high school, and I had remained fully clothed and he had remained mostly clothed, so he didn't have a point of reference for me in a state of near-undress. I tried to imagine how he would picture me looking. Based on my earlier assessment, I felt confident I could measure up to his imagination. I stretched and watched my muscles glisten as a bead of sweat rolled between my breasts to my navel. The piercing there sparkled in the sunlight.

"I bet there are guys lining up to hit on you. Just don't get burnt. I'm headed to a party tonight. Wish you could come with."

Mission accomplished. Wait, was a new flirtation my mission here? Had I really wanted the conversation to turn this way? I took a mental step back and examined myself and my history. Of course I wanted someone to flirt with, and if they were someone new, all the better. I have always been a flirtatious person who loved attention, and I hadn't matured that much. I rationalized that my boyfriend and I have been arguing so much, having some positive attention was good for me.

I felt relaxed and happy as the temperature began to cool. I gathered my belongings and left for home. I showered one of those perfect summer showers that rinses away the heat and the sunscreen and leaves you feeling clean and satisfied. I climbed into my bed, under recently washed sheets and enjoyed the feeling of the soft fabric against my freshly shaven legs. I stretched and writhed under the fabric, loving how cool and light it felt on my warm skin. I inhaled the scent of fabric softener.

In a state of relaxation, I ran my hand over my flat stomach, sliding upwards along my sternum. The feeling of the sheet grazing softly over my nipples was exciting, and they stiffened as I acknowledged the feeling. I trailed my fingertips over to circle my left nipple, before pinching it between my thumb and index finger. I have small breasts, but I've always appreciated their youthful shape and my peachy pink nipples that flush almost red when excited. I continued to stroke my breast before alternating to the right and feeling a new electricity in my veins. After a few moments, I slipped my hand back down over my stomach and down to my freshly shaved pussy. I felt the soft skin and moaned at the gentle touch of my fingertips. I parted my lips and exposed my swollen clit, brushing it gently with my index finger. My hips bucked at the contact, and I felt the wetness that had spread across my lips. I dipped my middle finger inside my pussy, feeling the velvety walls, before moving upwards to stroke my clit. I circled it gently at first, then applied more pressure and speed as my breathing became more labored. I periodically paused to dip my fingers into my soaked pussy, before resuming my insistent rubbing. As I pictured the bead of sweat running between my breasts earlier today, and an unknown tongue sliding from my navel to lick it up, I came. I moaned and shook as the waves of pleasure rolled through my body.

The next few days passed with little excitement. I spent most of my time job-hunting, hoping that a temp agency would call me with a placement that would let me work full-time then be gone in September. I was off to study abroad for the fall and was really just marking time until I boarded my flight. I spent most of my days listlessly scrolling the internet, researching what was currently in style in Europe. Perhaps with careful adjustments, I could make my rocker-chic style translate.

That Thursday, as I sat around killing time, I decided to play around with Photoshop. I had done a photo shoot with friends a few months earlier where I had donned lingerie and smeared black eye liner, mussed my bright red hair, and pretended to be the vixen I was in my wildest fantasies. My favorite shot was me in fishnets and garters, sitting on the couch looking defiantly into the camera while smoking a cigarette.

I felt like that embodied who I was in my own mind - a tough but sexy rock-n-roll badass. I had posted it on MySpace, hoping people would take notice. It brought more than one cute guy out of the woodwork. I thought about that photo, wondering if Kyle had seen it. Which led me to wonder, if he had seen it, had he enjoyed looking? Did he get hard as his eyes were drawn between my spread, stockinged legs to the small patch of black fabric covering my pussy?

I decided there was a good way to find out. I went to the bathroom and painstakingly smoothed on purple eyeshadow and slick black liner. I drew on a cat eye style and checked to see that the green and gold in my eyes glinted in the mirror. I sat down and shot a series of photographs - glancing over my shoulder, with sunglasses tipped down my nose, smirking directly at the camera. When I uploaded the photos for editing, I realized that my strapless shirt gave the illusion that I was topless. Perfect.

I carefully cropped and refined each shot, then chose three where I looked especially smoldering. I edited them into a photo-strip style, like you would get out of a photo booth, and posted them online. I didn't even have to wait 5 minutes before I heard the ping from my laptop.

"Are you naked???"

So many choices for what to say, depending on the reaction I hoped to elicit.

"Wouldn't you like to know..."

"Maybe I would."

"Well, perhaps someday I'll tell you "

"Tease."

I left it at that, but Kyle wasn't finished chatting. He segued to school and work. I told him I had an interview the next day, some sales job that I hoped would keep me occupied for the next few months. Somehow, the conversation turned to miniature golf.

"I love mini golf! Plus, because I'm a mini person, I have amazing mini golf skills." I joked, a little self-deprecating humor about the fact that I am barely over 5 feet tall.

"You may have some skills, but I am the mini golf champion!"

"No way! I would kick your ass!"

"I'd love to see that!"

"Name the day and time - I'll wear my ass-kicking shoes. They have polka dots."

As soon as I clicked the send button, a wave of panic swept through me. What if he takes me up on it? My nature refuses to allow me to back down from a challenge, but this could be dangerous. I stopped myself. How could it be dangerous? We're just two old friends. Mini golf is not sexual in nature, not even close! It's not as if I invited him to play strip poker!

"Tomorrow night. 6 pm. My house."

I weighed my options. I had no plans, and driving to where he was living, playing a round of golf, and driving back would kill an evening. The other option was board games with my parents, which sounded not great compared to an evening of flirtatious attention and getting to kick some guy's ass at miniature golf.

"I'm in. What's your address?"

And maybe that was the moment I sealed my fate. Or maybe that moment had come much earlier, when I began my back-and-forth with him. How long had I been conniving to be back in the same place, to get a chance to really interact with grown up Kyle? It didn't much matter now, and I had no idea what was to come.

The next day, I slept in and then groomed myself carefully. I have a job interview, that was my rationale. I smudged on aquamarine eyeshadow and what had become my signature black cat eye liner. I dressed meticulously for my interview, in a fitted black suit with an aquamarine tank top underneath. I slipped on black heels, and hopped in my car.

The interview was a bust. It was some multi-level marketing knife sales gig, which sounded like a nightmare. The office was dark and musty, and the manager gave me the creeps. I shook his hand and got the hell out. I drove home, butterflies flitting in my stomach. I stripped off my suit, but left the tank top. I slipped on skin tight jeans and my polka dot sneakers. I checked my hair and makeup and got in my car for a trip that would hopefully have a more pleasant outcome.

I didn't pack an overnight bag, because I had no intentions of staying. After all, how long could mini golf possibly take us? An hour or so, and then I could hang out for an hour and head back and still arrive at a reasonable hour by parental standards. I powered the windows down on my hatchback and cranked up the volume. I blared "Fall" by Something Corporate and "Scandalous Scholastics" by Gym Class Heroes, singing along at the top of my voice. Before I knew it, I was pulling up in front of the address he had given me.

I suddenly felt so nervous. Is it weird that I'm here? Did he think I wouldn't do it, and he was just fucking around with me? Does he actually want to hang out, or is he secretly super creeped out? I contemplated turning around and going home without ever getting out of the car. Just as I was about to turn the key to haul ass out of there, I heard him yell from the porch.

"Did you bring your ass-kicking shoes?"

He grinned broadly, flashing rows of straight white teeth. He wasn't wearing his standard hoodie, but instead a plain t-shirt and jeans. He still wore Converse sneakers and slim cut jeans. Not much had changed in his fashion sense, but he seemed so much more mature and confident.

"You bet! Your ass is toast, my friend!"

I hopped out of the car and bounded onto the porch. He reached out and hugged me briefly. He smelled good, not like cologne, but like men's soap and deodorant - spicy and warm. I was surprised by the intimacy of the gesture but found that I was disappointed with the brevity. I realized I wanted him to hold me closer for longer.

He invited me into the house, which he shared with a couple roommates. He introduced me to one who was making pasta with vodka sauce by pouring vodka into jarred spaghetti sauce. My stomach turned a little at the sight. He offered us some, and Kyle agreed. I took a plate and picked gingerly at it. I wasn't that hungry. I was filled with anticipation.

"Well, I think we should head out. I think I have some polka-dot shoes to beat!"

We bid Kyle's roommate goodbye and hopped into his beat-up green sedan. It was the same one he had driven in high school, and I remembered feverishly making out to the tune of his mix tapes. I asked if he still made tapes, and he reached into the console, shook one at me, and popped it into the player. The sound of The Cure made me bite my lower lip, remembering.

Within 10 minutes, we were at the mini golf course, putters in hand. We joked easily about our missed shots, and high fived over holes-in-one. It was relaxed and fun, something I realized had been missing for me lately. This felt like the kind of date I should be having. Wait, did I say date?

I stopped myself. This is not a date. This is friends, hanging out, goofing around. There is nothing romantic or sexual here. I. Have. A. Boyfriend!

We reached the 18th hole, and both struggled to sink our final shots. Kyle tallied the scores and I watched him closely. He had been so wiry as a teenager, never seeming to be able to go with the flow. Adult Kyle was different. He leaned so casually against a post, it almost looked like he was designed to be there. The early evening summer sun made the red in his hair glow deeply, and his brown eyes looked so warm and soft. He seemed like a safe place.

"Sorry, kid. It seems the ass-kicking shoes did you no good. You lose."

"Bullshit!!" I protested, but he flipped the scorecard towards me, and I could see I had lost by 3 points. I did an exaggerated pout, crossing my arms and sticking out my lower lip.

"It's okay. I'll let you keep the shoes - I don't think they're my look." He grinned and playfully squeezed my shoulder. I could smell him again. It was intoxicating.

We got in the car and went back to his house. Once inside, we chatted with his roommate. He offered me a beer. I'm not much of a beer drinker, but I figured it wouldn't kill me. He asked if I wanted to sit down, maybe watch TV or something. I agreed and followed him. Instead of going into the living room, he headed up a staircase, and into his bedroom. There, he flicked on a small TV. Arrested Development was on, and he asked if I liked the show. I admitted I had never seen it.

We sat on his bed, watching quietly. A commercial started, and he said, "It was weird having you in my car after all these years."

I sipped my beer and thought about the last time I was in his car, five years earlier.

"Yeah, it was a blast from the past. I think the last time I was in your car was The Failed Blowjob."

He laughed nervously, but a silence fell between us. I thought back to that night.

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