I spot him from across the room at Allison’s party, the one she threw at the end of junior year. Alpha male Brad. Mightiest of the jocks. I run a hand through my hair, adjust my skirt, cross and re-cross my legs. I want him to notice me. Idiot teammates surround him. I am ignored. So I wait. And he drinks.
A seat opens beside him on the couch. This is easy. I sit down, casually press my thigh against his blue jeans. This is easy. I ask about sports. He stares at my legs, my tits, my crotch. This is easy.
I lie naked in a child’s bed. A Power Ranger glares disapprovingly from a poster on the wall. Brad mounts me. He looks strange without his shirt, hairy and white. Brad is extremely drunk. His bulk suffocates me as he pounds away, going at it like we’re making a video. I feel nothing.
Brad grunts, spasms, stops. This is not what I wanted. But I take it. Treasure it. Because I know what it feels like to have nothing. Brad’s crushing weight, his skank breath, his varsity cock violating my lonely cunt--they are something.
Alex Miller
miller.alex.77@gmail.com
The Nuclear Age
Tim O'Brien