“Want to see the rest?” she asked.
I nodded. “Y-yes.”
She smirked at me. “Now who’s the one stuttering?”
“Me. God, Becca. What are you trying to do to me?” I meant it as a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway.
“I’m trying to turn you on.” She pivoted on her heel, presenting me with a fine view of her ass and her back with the slight sway inward, the strap of the bra dimpling her supple skin.
“All you have to do to turn me on is be you,” I said. “I’m turned on every time you so much as take a breath. This? What you’re doing? You’re killing me. I’m going to explode. You’re too f**king sexy for me to be able to take it.”
“Well, I’m not done yet.” She ran her hands over the curve of her backside, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her yoga pants. “Do you want to see the panties I got to go with it?”
“God, do I ever.”
“You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”
I almost didn’t recognize this Becca. She was…confident, sexy, alluring…nothing at all like the girl I’d first met. I wondered, briefly, if she was overcompensating for her nerves, her fears, her doubts. I knew I should question why she was doing this, taking off her clothes for me like this, but I didn’t. I felt like a bit of tool for not saying anything, but I just…I couldn’t bear to stop her.
She faced away from me, head turned to watch my reaction. She slowly slid her yoga pants down to her knees, although the pants were so tight it was more like peeling herself out of them. My zipper got even more strained at the sight greeting me underneath the pants: they were cut so that the back hem sliced across the middle of her ass cheeks, disappearing between her thighs. They had black lace at the top and bottom, with vertical pink and white stripes in between.
I couldn’t take it anymore. She was standing in front of me in nothing but a bra and panties, facing away, still and watching me. I rose off the bed, shaking all over, unable to believe I was so lucky. I stood behind her, strangling on my own breath, mouth dry.
“Jesus, Becca.” I barely heard myself, but I knew she did. “You…you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she ducked her head. “Thank you, Jason.” She turned in place and pressed up against me, lifting her lips to mine. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
She nodded, unzipping the leather jacket I’d forgotten I was still wearing. “I want to see you, too.” Becca spun us in place so I was facing the bed, then backed up and sat down, crossing her legs demurely, her hands folded on top of her thighs.
I couldn’t and didn’t try to stop staring at her, soaking in her beauty. I’d never known a girl could be so beautiful. I mean, yeah, I’d seen shit on TV and movies, I’d flipped through Victoria’s Secret catalogues. But that had nothing at all on the reality of my girlfriend in real life, real flesh for me to touch, to kiss, to hold.
I was nowhere near as confident as Becca seemed to be. I had no idea how to take off my clothes for her and look cool doing it. I would sure as hell try my best, though.
* * *
Becca
I sat perched on the edge of the bed, fear, embarrassment, worry, and excitement shivering through me. I had no idea how Jason didn’t see that I was shaking from head to foot. I couldn’t believe I was here doing this. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that, just stripped out of my clothes like a harlot. I felt so stupid doing it, like a poser, an ugly girl trying too hard to be a sexy woman. My knees had knocked together the entire time, and my hands had shaken so bad I’d been almost unable to get my shirt over my own head. I’d actually gotten it stuck on my br**sts, which were turned into giant balloons by this bra I’d bought at Victoria’s Secret and put on in the mall bathroom, stuffing my old bra and panties in my purse. I think Jason appreciated the way my tits had bounced when I’d finally been able to get the shirt over them, though.
Each breath was shaky, my skin tingling, hot and then cold. Jason stood in front of me, wearing a pair of faded, tight-fitting jeans and a black long-sleeve henley shirt, the buttons undone to show a sliver of bronze skin. I let myself stare at him, waiting for him to take his clothes off.
God, the boy was hot. I’d always had a crush on him, and now it was turning into all-out true love, and he was sexier than he’d ever been, just standing there with his weight slightly to one side, his biceps straining the fabric of his sleeves, his shoulders broad and strong. His eyes raked over me, chips of green set deep in his chiseled face. I watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat, watched his powerful hands curl into loose fists and release. He was barefoot, and I remembered reading in some novel that there was nothing sexier than a man barefoot in blue jeans. Seeing Jason in that moment, I had to agree.
He finally summoned a smile and tore his eyes away from my assets to meet my gaze. I lifted an eyebrow in a get on with it smirk that I didn’t entirely feel. I was acting to cover my fear. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this, but I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t back out now. Well, no, that wasn’t true. I could back out. Jason would be totally understanding—he’d take me anywhere I wanted to go without complaining if I said I wasn’t ready. The problem was, I wanted to be ready. I wanted this with him; I just couldn’t seem to rid myself of the shakes, of my fear that I’d do something wrong, that someone would find out, that I’d messed up my birth control and I’d get pregnant…
Then Jason grabbed his shirt by the hem and lifted it up, stretching his abs taut as he peeled the shirt away in one smooth motion. I licked my lips at the sight of him. Yes, I actually licked my lips. He was a god, it seemed to me, an ancient Grecian athlete, blond and hard-muscled and perfect. He stood shirtless in blue jeans, a rim of cotton elastic peeking over the waistline of his pants. I had my legs crossed, and I had to press my thighs tighter together to keep from lunging off the couch and wrapping my legs around him. Desire raged, at war with the ever-present fear.
He reached slowly down and flicked open his jeans, then stopped.
“Flex for me,” I whispered. “Show me your muscles.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Flex? Like a bodybuilder?” He acted like that was the most absurd notion he’d ever heard, but he wasn’t me, looking at him.
Even at rest he was glorious, just standing with one hand in his pocket, the other reaching behind his head to scratch the back of his opposite shoulder. His arms were long and thick, biceps bulging and lined with veins, but his chest and stomach were my favorite places. He had broad, heavy pectoral muscles that bulged out from his chest, a fine line chiseled between them, pointing down to the rippling wonderland of his abs. He didn’t have the ultra-defined kind of abs that Kyle did. Jason’s stomach was hard, and definitely ripped, just toned in a different way than Kyle’s. Not that I was trying to compare the two, but more as a matter of differentiation. I’d seen both boys shirtless before on numerous occasions, swimming at the beach in the summer, after football practice…Kyle had the honed definition look that I thought of as “cut,” whereas Jason’s build was more heavy muscle, thicker, harder, less defined but with more bulk.