Boning

Life is unpredictable, that's all I know for sure.

Had you asked me who I'd be ramming on top of my biology teacher's desk during Homecoming, I definitely wouldn't have guessed the same girl who threw up on me in kindergarten. The same girl I’ve lived across the street from since I was two. I probably would have said I'd never do such a thing, but we humans tend to surprise ourselves, I've learned that, too.

She’s underneath me cursing, head thrown back, sweat glistening on her forehead as she tries to keep her dress hiked up so I can see under the hood. The classroom is dark, so that’s not doing much for me anyway. I’m like when you’re fingering the wall for the light switch during a thunderstorm and the power is out, thinking how you’ve done this a million times before and now you can’t seem to find it. Except I’ve only had sex a total of three times before this, so maybe not.

Finding the spot wasn’t all that hard, it was the falling into rhythm part that always got me. I was that moron in grade school who couldn’t even play Hot Cross Buns on the recorder right. Being on top of Mr. Mason’s desk cluttered with ungraded papers and stupid fucking tchotchkes didn’t help either. Why the hell do you need a four-inch skeleton anyway, I’m thinking as it rattles every time I buck my hips into Jennie Kane like I know what I’m doing. Like I have a single clue.

“Harder,” She mumbles underneath me, and at this point I’m so wrapped in her all I’m doing is trying to make this last more than five minutes, which was my personal best. Jennie Kane is spreading her milky thighs even further, so I slot deeper against her, and I’m thinking about that stupid fucking skeleton rattling, staring at it like it’s mocking me. Thankfully, it shifts my focus just enough that I forget about the heat pooling at the base of my pelvis.

But I’m brought out of my pissy inner monologue when I notice Jennie Kane is whining again, her body draped over the desk like a tuna on a cutting board. I idly wonder why I’m thinking of tuna while I’m balls deep inside her, and then shake my head and remind myself not to breathe in too deeply. Then she does it again, her lips parting, but her teeth gritted, and then I can make out the words.

“Fuck you, Mr. Mason.”

And then it clicks, and I no longer have to be angry at a plastic skeleton to keep from firing one off, because I realize what’s happening. This fuck has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with our biology teacher. Our jag-off fucking biology teacher.

“What the fuck did you say?” I ask, pausing, breathing labored like I’ve been running a marathon or something. She looks up at me with those eyes. Jennie Kane looks at me like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or how I remember her, with vomit all over her six-year-old buckle shoes. That pathetic look I hadn’t seen since she and I were something like friends.

“N-nothing. Keep going,” Jennie Kane says, wrapping her arms around me, pulling my hips toward her, but my prick already slid out. That feeling women always talk about with men, that used feeling, the one that makes you feel like you need to go and take the hottest shower of your life and scrub the first layer of your skin off, that was the first time I’d ever felt it.

So, I’m climbing off of her, tucking myself back into my boxers, shaking my head to myself. And she’s sitting up on Mr. Mason’s desk, making that fucking skeleton rattle again.

“Eli…wait…”

Strange how I couldn’t remember the last time I heard her say my name, and she’d been my neighbor for forever. Probably kindergarten. Probably when we were friends, or as friendly as kids seemed to think friends should be.

“What?” I ask then as I’m zipping up my pants, my voice holding a little more bite than I’d intended. I look over at her in the dim lighting and she seems taken aback by my voice, my demeanor. I almost like feeling intimidating, but I can’t focus and my eyes fall back down to her snatch, and the way her panties are hanging around her ankles. “Jesus, put your panties on.”

She blushes bright red and hops down off the desk, pulling her underwear on, allowing her poofy purple dress to pool back around her ankles again. Again, no focus, I’m looking at her hair, a little messy, framing her light eyes in darkness. She always was beautiful. I try to remind myself my feelings are hurt, hoping the remnants of my boner will go away with enough negative reinforcement.

“Listen, I… Mr. Mason is a prick,” Jennie Kane says, like I don’t know that. Like we don’t sit three chairs diagonally from one another in sixth period. And? Is all I can ask.

“And… I wanted to fuck someone on his desk… y’know, for fun.”

For fun. I look at her a little dumbfounded. Women act like they aren’t sexual deviants but they’re just as bad as men in more respects than I think they’d admit. Not that men mind. I suck in a breath, crossing my arms over my chest, thinking I must look like an asshole. I’m pulling a My Dad pose. The Disappointed But Not Surprised.

“You asked me to fuck you so you can what? Have one over on him?” She can hear how stupid it sounds too, I can tell by the way she fidgets with the bangles on her wrist. Sometimes things sound a lot better in our heads, that’s another thing I’ve learned.

“I’m sorry,” She says after a moment, and she means it. She’d changed in many ways, Jennie Kane. She had boobs now, glasses she didn’t have when she was younger, and a deeper voice. But when she lied, she would look away from you, and she was holding my gaze like I was the only thing to look at. I tried to ignore the twitching in my heart, the thumping in my boxers.

“It’s… fine,” I say then, like a guy with blue balls, because I am. Like a guy wondering what his date must be doing while he’s having a half-fuck heart-to-heart with a girl he hasn’t really spoken to since he was six.

I watch as the girl turns back to the desk, smiling faintly at the way we’ve crumbled some of Mr. Mason’s ungraded papers, and she’s left a sweat mark from her back on some others. I almost turn to leave before her, but then she puts her hand out and slaps that stupid little skeleton onto the floor and its bones go cracking and sliding across the tile floor. I couldn’t not smile, I couldn’t not laugh. She turned back to me and was laughing too, tucking her frizzy brown hair behind her ears. Part of me even wanted to climb back up on that desk and finish what we started then, even if it was a Fuck-Mr. Mason-Fuck. But then I thought better of it. I thought there was something I’d rather do, and I surprised myself again.

Hand out, smiling like a kindergartener, looking at a girl I’d left in my memory, I said, “Wanna get out of here?”

And though I’d been under the impression I was just a prick to her, just the genitalia she preferred for enacting her revenge on unsuspecting biology teachers, she said yes.

Just when you think you know someone. Know something…

Life sure is unpredictable.