My Queer Superpower

Chapter Thirty Eight

Keeping my distance from Saylor was tricky because of Faith, but I had no other choice. I couldn't stick around and wait to be phased out by Ryan. Normally, she would choose my side and we'd both ignore him until he apologized, but this time was different for two reasons.

One, this was beyond fixing with an apology. Saylor had to stop talking to Ryan. He was too great of a threat for me to allow to exist. Two, Faith didn't take a side. She thought we were both wrong: him for lying about Ryan and making me find out how way I did, me for being hurt over it when I was at Jerome's beck and call.

Cotton mouth was a regular occurrence. I often had to cut hangouts short with Faith to attend to Juice because I'd never keep him waiting. I wasn't annoyed. It was the exact opposite. He was getting addicted to me.

Juice Williams needed me, not enough that he'd come out and say it, but enough that he appeased me. He gave me enough to where I kept hope that there would more between us. We'd ugly kiss beforehand, we'd hang out for awhile afterward and sometimes he'd get obsessed with my body—which I couldn't believe. I should have been grateful that he wanted me to get something out of it, but most times, I felt unworthy of his touch and rarely did it last long. He always got a kick out of that.

Jerome invited me into his house, which was an unexpected first. Usually, our meetings were reserved for our cars or my place. He didn't have any siblings or a present father, but his mother seemed to always be around or always be due to come around.

This day was different. I was allowed in. His house was a cobalt blue, single-level home on the road least associated with wealth. It wasn't a bad neighborhood—there weren't any in Solon—but it was the worst. It was behind the public library, but its proximity to the sanitation center couldn't be overlooked.

Our houses were comparable, but his was half the value. We were on opposite sides of the sanitation center, but our community had insulation. While only a five minute jog through the woods separated us, the drive was roughly twice that. Driving to Jerome's house required me to head in the opposite direction through the community exit, turn toward town, cross the creek, pass his house, turn before the library, onto the road behind it and drive back to his house.

I usually walked unless my car also had to play host. It blew Jerome's mind when I told him about the shortcut. In our soccer days, he had always walked the roads.

Jerome led me inside through the backyard. There was a Doberman chained up to a steel rod that screwed into the ground. It had a cobalt blue dog house, which I thought was cute and Max was printed in royal blue above its door. Max stood perfectly erect and stared at us from the edge of his leash as we passed by, but didn't bark once. It must've been well trained. I wanted to compliment Jerome, but I was too afraid of jinxing my first invitation.

The rear entrance had sliding glass doors that led from a small patio to the kitchen. It was clean, but the worn black on dark brown design of its shelving and cabinetry was dated. The floor plan was kitchen-centric, so the rooms branched off from it. Juice didn't take me through the rest of the house.

He grabbed my arm by the wrist and led me to a brief hallway that had a bathroom directly ahead and rooms off to either side. He took me into the one on the right. His room was much smaller than mine. His king-size bed was a choice made from ego or self-denial. Aside from a simple nightstand across from a tall and skinny, shutter wood cabinet, both in gray, there was no furniture.

There was a flat screen mounted across from his bed and wall shelves around the room that housed past trophies and medals.

"I love it," I said. It was the truth, if only for whom it belonged to. "Can I stay forever?"

I fell down on top of Jerome's bed and sat up on my elbows to look at him. If my forced laugh hadn't hidden my true sentiment, I'd have gone too far. He smiled weakly and pulled off his tank top. It was a flimsy white one, the kind professional wrestlers tore off before a match. I wondered if he hadn't torn his off out of fear that I'd have found it tacky until I remembered how precious those apples were to him.

"What you smiling about?" he asked.

I shrugged and pulled off my own shirt. It was one I'd won off of Jerome. I liked that it smelled like maple syrup and summer grilling—mesquite blocks, specifically. Most of all, I liked that it had Williams printed across the shoulders. I'd won if off a bet that made me feel less embarrassed about what happened when we shared a bathroom stall.

Jerome's grin was showing as he plopped down onto his bed, straddled over me. He was in the mood already. He was wearing compression shorts that were nearly as tight to his skin as the red shirt had been to his torso that day. It put me in the mood as well. I hoped he'd chosen it with me in mind, but he probably just so happened to be wearing it.

He laid down on top of me—crushing me a little—and he kissed me. I licked the side of his face and waited. My eyes, hopeful. My canines, on hind legs. He licked my eyelid, initiating our next round of ugly kissing. It was wild and sloppy and it lasted so long that I started to grow suspicious. I couldn't understand what I'd done to deserve such appeasement.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked. He tried to keep kissing me, but I stopped him. This time, my voice was shaky. "You're not leaving me, are you? Because, I can do better, okay?"

Jerome pressed a finger to my lips and started laughing. It vexed me to see him laughing over what would be a serious betrayal. I wanted to keep talking, but I didn't want disobedience to count against me. I'd been perfect.

"Lemme take care of you," he said. His smile widened as he started to peel off my jeans. I grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Take whatever I want, right? Or has this always been about you?"

He was right. It had always been about me, even following his orders. I nodded as I released his wrist. I did as master commanded and laid perfectly still, as still as my trembling body would allow. I blushed as Jerome stripped me down to nothing and stared with scrutinizing eyes. He was surprised, though pure disgust was what I'd have expected. I was still mortified by how inferior my body was next to his.

I pressed my eyes shut, half-expecting him to say as much. A body like mine was nothing he should sully himself entertaining. I scooted up on my elbows as he laid hands on me. They felt nice. I closed my eyes to try to block it out, but couldn't. I moaned as he traversed my entire body with hands and mouth, invoking an intense passion I'd never seen in him before.

I turned and bent to his will as he splayed me out across his bed in different positions. It went on for longer than I could keep track of and I never intended on stopping him since I promised myself to him. He put me in a rather telling position with my head to the mattress and my back arched, so I told him my terms.

"Jerri, I won't stop you, but" —a tear rolled down my cheek— "don't you dare leave me if you do."

Jerome didn't answer. I started full-on ugly crying until I was told to leave.

And then he told me to come back—for a moment, I thought I'd ruined him, like Jin—when I was ready to have sex. Phew.

The photography hoarder five doors down from me, who I was all but avoiding, was the only reason I didn't turn around right then. I had to have more respect for myself, nothing could stop Jerome from leaving me.

Either I had to become someone he didn't want to leave or I needed to find someone who didn't want me to.