Trapper and Emmeline (5 page)

She pointed to the comments under the picture.

The first one read, “Trapper wins at life.”

Another went, “How does she not have back problems with that giant rack? Are they real? Trapper, tel us! For science!”

“Tel him they’re fake,” she said. “I had a boob job last fal , after a period when I was real y sick and I wasn’t supposed to live more than a year.”

Um, what?

I’d have to ask about that later, but right now I was maxed out in terms of being surprised.

“You know, most girls would be shitting themselves over this,” I told her. On the computer, I wrote: “It’s none of your business but she’d like you to know she’s had work done.”

I hit reload and saw we already had an answer: “Knew it! That much perfection is not natural.”

Another reply came up. It was Fred himself, writing, “On reflection I feel bad about posting this. Who is she? And why are you Facebooking with her instead of… you know?”

“Tel him I don’t mind this time,” she said. “But he shouldn’t do that again. People go to jail for that shit.”

She kissed my chin, then my neck, and then squirmed down until she was face to face with my crotch. She unbuckled my pants.

I typed, “She says she doesn’t care. But I do. That was seriously wrong.”

Emmeline had my cock out and was tugging it toward her face. She closed her lips over it and gave it a long, strong suck. “For this first blowjob, I want you to come real y fast.”

“You betcha.”

“Oh, and Trapper…” she paused and slid my whole shaft into her mouth, and down her throat. She went back and forth on it, building up friction on the shaft. She had al these hidden talents that I never suspected: a great kisser, a skil ed make-out artist, and now a deep throater with the casual competence of a porn star.

“Y-yes, Emmy?”

“I want you to tag me in that picture. Tag it to my Facebook profile.”

“That picture?
Tagged
to you? But—” I paused to gasp, because she briefly worked my dick ferociously. “Al your friends. People you work with. Your old high school buddies. Everybody you know…”

“Shit, you’re right.” She paused, yanking my cock while she thought. “It has to look like someone is being an asshole to me, right? I can’t be too obvious. And
you
can’t tag me because you’l get in trouble with my friends. I got it! Tel your roommate to tag me. He’s already an asshole.”

“You’re sure about this? You real y want me to tel him?”

“It’s just an experiment,” she said. “I’m twenty, and it’s time for my next scandal. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“But people wil save the picture on their computers. There wil be a naked picture of you on the Internet!”

“There are others already out there,” she shrugged.

“What!”
Who
was
this girl?

“I’l tel you the whole story someday. Again, it was about expecting to die soon.”

“I’m so disoriented.” Why was I was expected to hold a conversation while she stroked my cock? It was worse than talking during a footbal game.

“When you think you’re going to die, Trapper, it’s very clarifying. You don’t puss around with the things you want to do.

You don’t sweat details. And also, nothing you and I do together wil ever be as scary or painful as thinking you’re terminal y il .”

“Okay… but…”

“Look, Trapper, I’m not dumb. I know what I’m asking, and I know what I want. Over the next few weeks, I’l prove that I trust you. But you have to trust me, too.” She gave my dick a shake. “If you don’t get my picture tagged before it’s taken down by the Facebook police, I wil not finish this blowjob.”

“Consider it done!”

I messaged Andy the instructions, which he rejected. So I threatened him, which never worked. Then I told him I was getting a blowjob, and if it wasn’t from Emmeline, it would be from him.
That
worked.

“There.” I reloaded the page, and the image was linked to Emmeline’s Facebook page.

“Nice,” she said. “Have people ‘liked’ it yet? Are my friends outraged?”

“Won’t your family see?”

“It’s just my brother and my dad. And if my dad were on Facebook, I’d be dead already. And so would al of you.

Seriously, don’t disrespect me around my dad.”

“Thank you for final y kil ing my hard-on.”

“I’l bring it back. I’ve waited a long time for you to come in my mouth.”

Shit.
She could even talk dirty.

I came three times, and wore out four condoms (the last with a dead, broken zombie dick) before Emmeline final y let me relax. She obviously worked out more than I did and was in much better shape. It was seven or eight in the evening by that point, and any post-coital nap we might have considered was out of the question. Our bodies were waking up for the evening, indifferent to how exhausted we were. We talked about going out to a bar with my roommates. They were pounding the door, promising drinks if we forgave them. Emmeline remembered leaving her blouse by the apartment’s entrance. I remembered a button or two popping off when our kiss grew too intense in the hal way.

Though I didn’t have any libido left, I stil had some intel ectual function. “Emmeline, weren’t we supposed to cut up your jeans?”

“I do remember that. You’re right. We fol owed that woman with the torn jeans on the sidewalk. I thought you were so cute! You wanted to fol ow her more.”

“Do we stil need to cut the ass out of your jeans?”

Her mouth quirked with a dry smile. “I don’t know. But apparently I find showing off to be a huge turn-on.”

“You’re a showy slut, yes.”

“How much would we cut the jeans?” she asked.

Zing.
She no longer sounded weary, only pretend-casual. She was waking to the idea of the next escapade. I could hear it in the sudden strength of her voice. I pretended that I was a Trapper who stil had erectile capability: what would dick-Trapper want?

The same thing as limp-dick Trapper.

“We need to go al in. I want your butt cheeks showing.”

“Oh,” she said. Again her voice was neutral. This time it didn’t make me insecure. I felt I knew her wel enough, after some epic lovemaking, to know that her uncertain was actual y her “tel me more” voice. This girl was very wil ing to be convinced whenever I had an idea.

“We’l cut out your front pockets so the insides of your hips, and maybe your panties, wil show through. We’l cut off the waist where the belt loops are, so they wil rest low on your hips. We’l cut out the bottom of your ass. Guys wil be able to lean over to see if you’re wearing underwear.”

“Which I wil be,” she said firmly.

“So it sounds like a plan?”

“Where are the scissors?”

Oh man, this girl!

“You real y are a dream. Any dumb fantasy I have, you’re there to fil it.”

She slowed to a stop, and looked at me.

“Wel , Trapper, I real y,
really
like you. I like how I’ve been turned on every minute today, ever since we started holding hands.”

The blunt, confessional tone of her voice put me aback. “Emmeline, I like you too. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Trap, I think we’re something real. We’re destined. Ordained.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here’s what I think—but only time wil tel if I’m right.” She propped herself up on an elbow, kissing me between each sentence. “I seem to like making a spectacle of myself. I like when guys look at me—I always have, I know it now. I’m glad that I don’t have to delude myself anymore. Also, I think you like showing me off. And you real y liked class today, didn’t you? I kept on escalating, and you ate it up.”

“That was on purpose?”

“I could tel you were entertained and I wanted to make you happy. I think I might do that a lot, with men I talk to.

Subconsciously.”

“You’re very good at it.”

“Thanks, I guess. Anyway, together, you and I can be a recipe for adventure! Can you think of a better pairing than us?

Show-er and show-e?”

“If you put it that way, and I can’t.”

“So let’s get the scissors before I lose my nerve!”

I didn’t have to put my hand on her crotch to know she was ready to go again. I pictured myself recruiting a backup team of guys who could tag into our sexy-time when I needed a rest. I looked her up and down, which caused her to pose a little.

“Here’s what you do,” I told her. “Put your bra and panties on.”

“Ooh!” she gave a cute little moue of disappointment.

“And go out into the apartment in front of my roommates.”

“Ooh.” Now the sound was different.

“Just act natural that you’re in your underwear. Different girls, different comfort levels, right?”

“If you say so, Trapper.”

“We’ve had girls wandering around in their underwear before.” I didn’t mention that it had been Saul’s drunken aunt.

“Under the TV is a cabinet with little drawers. Open the second drawer down, on the right. The scissors are there. Or in one of other drawers.”

“Cabinet, second drawer, right. Okay.”

She was standing at that point, looking gorgeous as she pul ed on her tiny panties and her lacy bra. The bra didn’t look comfortable, so I supposed it was a fashion accessory—designed to peek out of her shirt and very effective at it. As for the panties, I couldn’t real y see a point. They only went as high as her pubic bone in front, and did nothing to cover her taut, round ass in back.

Both undergarments had had a rough day, and were variously stretched, damp, and transparent in places. She spil ed out of them in every direction. She twisted around, trying to contain her body, looking like an indecisive Playboy centerfold.

“You real y need a mirror in here,” she said.

“I’l tel you how you look.”

“Sure you wil .” She paused at the door. “I guess this is it!”

Against al odds, my cock was getting hard again. I watched in admiration as she fluffed her hair, fixed an expression of indifference on her face, and walked through.

I couldn’t hear what my idiot roommates said, but I could guess that it started as something off-the-charts inappropriate. There was a swel ing of speech when they realized she had final y emerged from my room and al spoke to her at once—and then the speech dropped into silence as they saw her.

I heard Emmeline chirping at them brightly, the high voice she uses when she’s trying to make a good impression on new men. She needed scissors. She’d been told they were here in this drawer.

No, not this one. What about this other one? Nope.

“Huh! My informant is unreliable.”

They let her go through every drawer, and then pointed at the bottom ones, and she leaned over to look in those. For five solid minutes she was pul ing drawers open and rummaging around (“how many power cables do you guys real y need, anyway?”). For me, it was an agonizing time when I strained to hear what was happening. She said they never blinked once. They devoured her with their eyes.

Then, final y, Saul remembered the main drawer in the kitchenette. She found the scissors on the first glance, waved them, and came back to my room.

She closed the door and leaned against it.

“Look at me!” she demanded.

I was already staring.

She was flushed, her chest bright pink as if her heart were a floodlight shining through the delicate veins of her breasts. Her nipples had defeated the bra, making big, obvious points tantalizingly close to where the fabric stopped and her tits began. Her vagina, minimal y covered by the tiny triangle of cotton, was surrounded by a riot of bare skin: hips, thighs, stomach, al smooth and detailed and inviting a touch. She seemed calculated to create a brawl between the primitive and civilized urges in every man.

If I was one of my roommates, and I was trying to be even minimal y respectful of Emmeline, my eyes would be sliding al over trying not to stare at any particular one piece of her anatomy. It was dizzying. You couldn’t just stare at her eyes, because you were supposed to be casual and indifferent. And when Emmeline’s head was turned and you
could
look—