Polaroid of a Girl [George Daniel]

I Think I Should Help

This was supposed to be like a five-part story originally, and it's quickly turned into a full-fledged book. I'm okay with it, though, I like where it's going. Bless you all for your wonderful votes and comments. This chapter is a bit intense, please tread with caution. The sex stuff is coming soon, I promise, but I owe it to the story to pace it carefully. Love you all so much. 

 

There was a thick and sensual kind of irony about the way that Mary Jane and George felt about each other. Or, one can suppose, how they felt about the ideas of each other they had each projected. They had known each other for two weeks, but it seemed so much longer for the both of them.

George did not typically respond to the standard teenage girl fantasy; the innocent, overdramatic climaxers; the schoolgirl uniforms, pig tails and the lot that he'd seen in passing in dirty magazines. George liked women who, for lack of a better term, knew how to fuck. And although Mary Jane was innocent-eyed and seventeen, he suspected she knew what she was doing now that he'd gotten to know her better.

Mary Jane could feel herself growing impatient. She'd been to his house nearly eight times now in two weeks, and George had still not made a single move. However, he did not seem to mind her company, and she'd borrow records from him all the time, then chat upon returning them. It didn't happen every day, but they had smoked together quite a few times. She was fascinated with him, and he giggled at her when they would play Fleetwood Mac records and she'd spin around his attic like Stevie Nicks.

It's not like they were keeping a secret from their loved ones. They were just leaving out minor details. George had told Charis that Mary Jane dropped by occasionally to borrow his records; that she didn't usually stay long; that she was a good kid and had a boyfriend who lived a couple blocks away. Mary Jane had been very careful to not tell her mother or stepfather any information at all, because she knew her mother wouldn't allow it, given Mary Jane's history.

Mary Jane talked about her boyfriend sometimes with George, not to make casual conversation or because she wanted actual guidance, but because she wanted to make him jealous. George saw right through this, and thought it was kind of cute, so he played along. But, like always, Mary Jane tended to take things too far.

"Do you go down on your wife a lot?" Mary Jane had asked him as she was tapping her nails against his toolbox, and as George was almost done with the entirety of the new floor.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Why would you want to know that?"

Mary Jane was dressed in a white T-shirt she'd tied up at the waist, and denim short shorts, with red Converse. George was in his typical paint-splattered jeans, and no shirt, and had to physically force himself not to smile when Mary Jane stared at him.

The girl shrugged, tip-toeing on a piece of wood as if it were a balance beam, her arms spread wide, red Chucks careful. "Dunno. I guess I'm just wondering if that's something men like to do."

George liked to, but he wouldn't tell her that. Instead, he continued to nail the dark hardwood to the floor. The sun was shining directly on Mary Jane's face, and she looked quite pretty.

"Mike won't go down on me," she complained about her boyfriend. "And it's kind of bullshit because I suck his dick all the time."

She wasn't trying to make George jealous at this point. She was just genuinely pissed off. George found his face twitching in disappointment. Had he had the opportunity; rather, had the opportunity been ethical---well, no. It just wasn't right to think about her like that. To think about her legs spread and shaking under his touch. What color her pubic hair was, if she had any. What her cunt tasted like.