The Bittersweet Life of Amy Clark(EDITING)

Chapter Eight

     We finished our meal, she paid for it and then we were on our way. We found our way back to her house. I was a bit nervous to head on inside, but wasn’t able to pinpoint why until I realized I was just a dumbass who always feared the worst would happen in a situation. We sat on her couch, talked a bit more as she pulled out old photo albums of her and her Mom. In every picture I saw a smile or a happy surprise expression on her face. If she took a look at any pictures of me that survived Jessie’s meltdown she would see something rather depressing and pathetic. I never smiled in any of mine.

     Now as she put the album away she asked me, “Do you like me, Amy?”

     I chuckled nervously. “Sure, we can be good pals.”

     She took my hand and held it against her breast. “No, I mean do you really like me?”

     Well, I think the answer to that question was obvious, but still as I sat there like a statue I did not know how to answer exactly. Of course I liked her, but what I felt was beyond liking and I didn’t understand how it could be so since I only met her a day ago. It made no sense in my heart or in my head. Maybe I was dreaming and this was all some vivid fantasy. That would suck really because I never cared much for fake-outs. I preferred the real deal. Maybe that was why I never really got into porn. I mean, sure it was okay to watch and get ideas from, but I wanted a real girl to act out such things with, not work on myself.

     “I-I do,” I said, hated how my voice softened and my hands trembled.

    Now what if I admitted it something happened? What if now was the time people would jump out and yell “surprise” and I would be sitting there looking like a loser? I waited, but they never did appear. Instead I felt the fullness of her breast press into my palm and her face lower toward mine. Her lips were gentle, soft and cherry flavored as they pressed against mine. I had wanted to know their taste and texture since the first moment I saw her. Now that I knew I could not get enough of their sweetness and tangled a hand in her hair, tugged her closer and stroked the inside of her cheek with my tongue.

    She guided me back and sprawled across me, her feminine warmth surrounding me, her perfume intoxicating. I was only vaguely aware she had loosened her blouse and was pulling my other hand up her skirt to where my fingers skimmed lace panties. Through them I felt she was clean shaven, just how I like it, and my senses went wild. I knew then if I didn’t get to sample her down there I would burst.

     “Wait,” she said through heavy breathing.

     I hesitated before slipping my fingers inside her moist, tight hole and asked, “What is wrong?”

    “Let’s go to my room, Amy,” she said and before I knew it she was ushering me up the stairs and down the hall.

      I figured it was my nerves or maybe irrational thought sneaking up to bite me in the ass. Whatever the case I feared…no, I dreaded lying with her on her bed. Here is the moment I was waiting for and I froze. I felt her lips on my neck, felt her hands burrow under my shirt and yet I was someplace else. It just didn’t feel right. My mind swam with excuses. It was too soon, I told myself, too soon for this.

     Back in my awkward phase, which was a laugh since many people considered me liking girls to be an awkward phase, I often hung out with a dude by the name of Paul. Well, Paul was a lame asshole, even worse than me as a matter of fact, but he denied it which made him an even bigger wuss. He was one of those guys who made fun of homosexuals even though he himself had feminine characteristics. He would prance around not understanding why girls did not go for him, but son of a bitch I knew exactly why.