Tell Me That I'm Good: Wait (Part 1)
Tell Me That I'm Good: Wait (Part 1)
Rating: R
“Hey, can I try those on?”
Jenny is standing in front of me, staring into one of those mirrors you’re supposed to hang on a door; it’s leaning against her bedroom wall, fingerprints smudging the edges. She leans forward, tugging at her satin turquoise bra so that it pushes up what she’s got. The white button down shirt I let her borrow is halfway open. “Sure, hold on a sec though.” Running her fingers through her peroxide blonde hair with roots as dark as mine, she smiles at herself. When she turns around she tilts her head at an angle, looking up at me. “So what do you think?”
“I think guys who go to strip bars in Arkansas aren’t going to understand what you’re doing. You’re gonna end up getting into something you didn’t bargain for.”
“Yeah, you might be right. That girl Randy’s seeing, Maylene? She showed me some of the stuff that she wears, said I could borrow some things to get started and all. It’s just so…:
“Weird?”
“Yeah. Kind of.” She turns and looks at herself again. “These boots are great though, aren’t they? Ordered then from this internet place. They were so worth it, exactly how they looked on the computer. Here, try ‘em.” She leans down and starts to unlace the black leather combat boots which takes forever since they go all the way up to her knees. She says they’re call ‘Pole Climbers’. I can’t imagine too many people wearing these to climb telephone poles or tree trunks, but maybe they did a long time ago. When she finally pulls them off she tosses them over to me. I pull the leg of my jeans all the way up and push my foot into one of them. “You can’t wear them with jeans, it’s not gonna look right. Here, you got boxers on?” She’s already going for my belt. Wriggling backwards on her bed, I try to escape.
“Hold on!” I laugh, hands in front of my fly.
“Oh please, like I haven’t seen you in your underwear a million times before. Just take your pants off, I’ll show you what to wear with them.” I bet she’ll try to get me into one of her skirts again, she’s loves doing that. We’re almost the exact same size.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t take off my jeans. I’m not wearing boxers.” She raises her eyebrows, smiling.
“Laundry day?’ She goes to the dresser and starts rummaging through the drawers, pulling out a pair of pink lace panties and a pair Randy’s plain white boxers, holding them up like she’s one of those ladies on the Home Shopping Network. “Which ones?.” I roll my eyes and try to keep down my smile.
“Fine.” Standing up I start to unbutton my jeans. Her eyes get a little bigger and it’s hard not to laugh. Truth is this is how I wanted it to go. I want to show her what we’re doing but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Once I’m unzipped I pull my fly open all the way. Underneath the faded worn denim is shiny black rubber, smooth and glossy.
“Thought you didn’t have anything on.” She’s walking toward me looking closely, curiously; the things she pulled from the drawer discarded on the mattress nearby.
“Don’t have boxers on.”
“Well what are those?” I push my jeans down some so she can get a better look. I’m proud because I know they look good on me, daddy’s been telling me so ever since I put them on for him last week.
“They’re called ‘chastity shorts’.” She runs her hand over the thick rubber, catching her fingers on the loop that has a delicate padlock hanging off of it. I like how her nails look against the glossy blackness, the chipped burgundy enamel enhancing the unblemished rubber.
“Chastity? That’s like virginity right?” She’s rubbing her fingers over me lightly but I can’t feel anything.
“Kind of.” She runs her hand around my waist finding the rest of the locks. One on the back and two on the legs, four all together; he’s the only one with the key.
“So you’re locked into them?” Her eyes are still fixed on the shorts, her fingers fiddling with the locks lightly, tugging at them gently.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well what if you have to go to the bathroom?”
“I’ve gotta wait.”
“But what if it’s an emergency?”
“I can’t get out of them without the key.”
“So you just tell him when you have to go and stuff?”
“Yeah, sort of.” I’m not sure that she’s getting it and I really want her to. “Here, feel this.” I take her hand lightly and run it over the metal plate that covers my dick underneath the shorts.
“What’s that?” I can tell she’s pushing hard by the way her wrist looks but if I wasn’t looking I wouldn’t even know her hand was there. It’s strange to watch because your brain knows you should be feeling something and it tries to send signals to the rest of your body but then nothing happens.
“It keeps me from-" I don’t know how to say it.
“Messing around?” She’s using her nails on me. Still nothing.
“Yeah.”
“Who’s idea was it?” She finally looks up but her hand finds its way back to the lock anyway and she keeps tugging gently.
“Mine.”
“You’re so lucky.” She leans over and hugs me , kissing me on the cheek before she lets go. “C’mon, take off your jeans. These boots are going to look so good. You can borrow them if you want. I think I’ve got the perfect shirt too. Here, lace them up while I look.”
The moon overhead is bright as I walk home. I stare at it for a long time, liking how its glow brings out the inky blue in the dark sky. I left the boots on. They are hidden underneath my jeans along with everything else. Tilting my face up to the sky I feel like a vampire. I’m tempted to walk home in the shorts and the boots and the thin black t-shirt but I keep my clothes on, I’m saving it for tomorrow.
The trailer is dark so I open the door carefully, trying not to make any noise. He’s a real heavy sleeper so it probably won’t matter. The moonlight shines in a little bit and I can see him stretched out on the couch, his legs going over the edge some. Don’t know why he doesn’t just leave the couch pulled out. Always has it folded up in the morning and doesn’t always pull it out at night. I’m tempted to go over and lay down with him but I don’t. If he didn’t bother to pull the couch out he must be pretty tired.
In my room I turn on the nightlight by my bed. It’s in the shape of a baseball and gives off a white glow like moonlight. I can’t wait to get out of my jeans and look at myself. I showed off for Jenny a little bit but that was different since we were laughing and playing around. Standing in front of the mirror I run my hands over myself lightly. The t-shirt she let me borrow is made of thin, black cotton and it’s a couple of sizes too small but it must be made that way on purpose because it’s definitely not a kids’ shirt. The sleeves ride high on my arms and the neck is scooped. The hem comes down to the top of my shorts but if I move around at all it rides up and you can catch a glimpse of my stomach. The shorts look so good. They cling to me without being too tight.
Jenny showed me pictures of boys dressed kind of like this in her magazines. She traced her fingers over their pale skin. They wore tight jeans and their hair hung in their faces. Using the black pencil that she keeps in a shoebox by her bed she did my eyes. When she finished she pulled out a small pot of dark red shiny stuff that said ‘Blood Stain’ on the lid. She opened it up and dabbed a little on my lower lip. It looked nice, like maybe my lips had become so chapped that they had started to bleed a little bit.
Swaying in front of the mirror I think about him seeing me like this and I need to convince myself not to go out there and get him right now. Tomorrow, he’ll see me tomorrow. It’s late, I should go to sleep. I’ve got to work in the morning and who knows when I’ll get to sleep tomorrow night. I sit down to unlace the boots, pull them off, and then go wash the makeup off. I pull off the t-shirt and lay down. Before I got the shorts I had no idea how much I touched myself. Not even to jack off or anything, just casually like when I was watching TV, or reading, or trying to go to sleep. Now every time my hand moves between my legs I’m aware of it because I don’t feel anything and in the back of my mind I still expect to. I still rub down there just as much if not more though. I rub and rub, watching my hand go back and forth, trying to remember what it feels like.