Have Me Forever by Ally Blythe
3
Eli
I was right about my parents. They went to my dorm the night I stayed at Ang’s house and tracked my phone when I didn’t answer. So I got to deal with that along with the faded outline of a dick on my face. Which my parents lost their ever-loving shit over. I don’t know who did it, or who left me the towel, but I can at least guess on the second one, which makes me embarrassed all over again. That night was a complete mess, and I owe Mr. Baker a huge apology for throwing up on him, among other things.
I wish that was my most pressing concern. For the past two weeks, I’ve been at my parents’ house. I’m not “grounded.” Instead, they’re giving me this time at home to reflect on my actions. A time for me to determine if my sins are forgivable. They also told me if it happens again, they’ll pull my funding for the dorms and make me move home where they can monitor me. Honestly, I’m just thankful they didn’t show up on Mr. Baker’s doorstep. I love my parents, but half the time I feel like I’m suffocating. They’ve told me they watch us closely “so we’re not tricked into temptation.” I’m not so convinced that’s why they act this way. But they love me, so what can I do?
Mama’s searing tone interrupts my pity party. “Elias, sit down and eat before going back to campus. You can’t get food like this back there.” She speaks in fluent Spanish, despite growing up in Atlanta, Georgia.
My parents met when my mother went on a mission trip with her church to Mexico City at seventeen. They married a year later, after exchanging letters and getting approval from both families. To keep our culture alive for Papa, we only speak Spanish at home. It seems silly, considering we do nothing to appreciate Mama’s culture, but I’ve never said as much. Plus, sometimes Spanish is the only way to truly express what I’m feeling at that moment.
Crap, I need to stop woolgathering. I take a seat, choking on the argument I want to make. They agreed to let me go back to campus, and I don’t want to jeopardize that by arguing.
“Yes, ma’am.” I pull some barbacoa, tortillas, rice, beans, and veggies onto my plate. It smells good and I am hungry. Really, I don’t need to fight this. It’s just food. Maybe they won’t use this as another opportunity to lecture me. They ask me to say grace, and we all go around the table telling each other what we’re thankful for that day. A small tradition we started many years ago.
Once done, Mom shoots Dad a knowing glance, making me freeze, my food halfway to my mouth. Of fucking course, I knew this was going to be more of the same. I have seven siblings, six still at home. The triplets, Adriana, Danielle, and Valeria, who are fourteen, and my three younger brothers, Manny, Alex, and Miguel, who are twelve, ten, and seven, respectively. They might as well be ghosts with how much attention they’ve gotten from my parents since I’ve been home. No, it seems I’m the only target.
My father clears his throat. “Now, Elias. We are allowing you to return to campus with the understanding that you took this time to reflect on your actions. Have you prayed for guidance? Do you believe He’s forgiven you?”
I muffle a frustrated sigh. I’ve already answered this a million times. I know they love me, and this is how they think I need to be protected. I keep repeating the words, hoping they will stick. It’s hard to believe it when I don’t feel like I can be myself. I can’t make mistakes, or talk about my worries.
I wonder if my siblings ever feel the same way. I don’t know if my sisters and brothers are actually quiet, if they agree with our parents, or if it’s all an act. Do they have passions and dreams outside our home? I don’t know if they buck against the rules like I do. Every aspect of our life is regimented and monitored. Or they leave me alone to babysit, putting me in the role of guardian, where I’m enforcing the rules. We’re not given the chance to know each other outside of a specific dynamic. “Yes, sir. I spent much of my time reflecting and praying to God. He is forgiving of mistakes and I pray he will continue to guide me down the right path.”
“Do you understand why we asked you to reflect?”
“Yes, Father. I shouldn’t have been at Angel’s house without permission and I shouldn’t have stayed the night.”
“Yes. Very good. And you know we don’t approve of that man. He doesn’t have any morals. He’s lucky he hasn’t corrupted his daughter.”
My mother chimes in. “That would be her mother’s doing. She’s such a good woman.”
The judgment pricks my skin, an overwhelming sensation threatening to take hold and destroy my control. I want to say, “judge not, that ye be not judged.” I clench my hands under the table, holding back any sign of my reaction. If I so much as run a hand over my face, and they decide it’s a sign of disrespect, I might be stuck here longer. “I know, sir. I’ll do better. Promise.” As I speak, I force my jaw to relax.
My father looks to my mother, seeking confirmation that the conversation was good enough. Her lips are a tight line, but she nods her head. We drop the subject and turn back to our food, the only noise coming from the silverware clinking against plates.
***
Thankfully, dinner passes quickly, and I’m back in my dorm, unpacking my stuff while Tom sits on his bed, staring at the TV, trying to kill zombies unsuccessfully. I’ll never understand his obsession with video games, especially with how bad he is at them.
“Fucking hell, motherfucker. How? How did that son of a bitch kill me?” I cringe at his outburst. The noise was so loud and full of rage. He throws the controller at the wall, leaving a small dent, then turns to face me. “So, were they really mad? Like, two weeks at home… That’s pretty fucked up.”
I roll my eyes, something I’ve picked up from Ang, which I’m trying to cut back on. It’s proven to be a hard habit to break, though I don’t do it nearly as often as she does. “They were definitely not happy. Really, it was my fault. I knew they were going to stop by that night or the next. I shouldn’t have stayed the night. And it wasn’t bad, I spent most of my time at church.”
He flops back onto his bed, putting his arm behind his head. “Now that’s some BS, man. I would not let my family harass me into going to church anymore. Not that we go. You gotta stick up for yourself.”
I laugh, not knowing how to respond. He doesn’t get it, but that isn’t his fault. Most people wouldn’t understand. Besides, whenever my parents stop by, I usher them back out the door as quickly as possible and make some excuse to do something far away from campus. Tom has only interacted with my parents once or twice, for less than five minutes.
“I mean, this is college, y’know? You should be able to do what you want whenever you want. That’s the real philosophy there. Anyway, I’m going to meet up with Vi. You gonna invite Ang over? I’ll be gone all night.” He smiles, dimples popping out on each cheek. He may be oblivious to some things, but he always knows how to make me feel better after a long stretch with my parents.
I chuckle despite myself. “Nah, she said she had some project she needed to work on. I’ll probably see her tomorrow or the day after.”
He winces, then clutches at his heart. “That hurts. I hurt for you, my dude. Right in here, where my heart should be.”
“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.”
***
I walk out of the business building after my last class of the day, a cool breeze ruffling my hair. It feels good after the stifling, stagnant air of the lecture hall. Talking about data tables and financial statements nearly put me to sleep—one of the biggest reasons I hate the business degree I’m getting. The breeze, however, makes me hopeful today will turn around. It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Ang, a whole week since I’ve been back on campus, so I need as much hope as I can get. I miss spending time with her alone, hearing her sassy tone as she tells me about her day, her favorite show, or what’s annoying her at school. It’s fun being with all our friends, but I’m ready to have her to myself.
Tuesdays seem to be her slow days, which means, if I time it right, I can catch her before she starts homework. She shouldn’t be out of class yet, so I text her to see if she’s free.
Eli: Hey, hun. I miss you.
Ang: I miss u 2, bb. U free 2day?
Eli: Yeah. Can I see you? I miss hearing your voice.
Ang: Yea. Meet @ my place!
Eli: Ok, I’ll be over there in ten.
Ang: Dad gone rest of day ;)
Eli: Really? :)
Ang: Do me a fvr?
Eli: Anything.
Ang: Get in the pool.
Ang: Naked.
Ang: Get ready 4 me. Itll b so hot!
I stare at my screen, disbelief causing my brain to short circuit. What? I… I can’t do that. God, it sounds hot, but not where one of our parents can catch us. I let her rope me into a lot of things, some of them adventurous like this, but is this too much? I call her, and she sends me to voicemail. The tone of each ring does little to calm my racing heart as I punch the number again. Damn it, Ang. Answer your phone.
I try her phone one last time. She picks up on the fifth ring, her voice sounding waspish. “What? I’m still in the middle of class.”
“You can’t be serious. I can’t do that. What if your dad comes home?” I attempt to keep my voice quiet, not wanting the entire class to hear the details of our conversation. I’m not sure how successful it is, considering I get a few odd looks from students walking past.
“Come on, he won’t even be home. It’ll be so hot, babe.”
I count to ten to slow my racing heart. In theory, yeah, it would be. I try to compromise. “I’ll wait in your room, or somewhere on campus. Like that one time. How about that?”
“Be in the pool when I get home or go back to your room alone. Your choice.” Her tone is cutting. Final.
When I don’t respond, her voice turns angelic, sweet, and coaxing. “I just want to have fun with you, babe. I love you. We’ve done stuff like this before. It’s been so long and I thought you’d like it. I’ll be so excited. C’mon, baby. Do it for me?” She makes a kissing noise as if we settled the matter, then disconnects the line.
I pocket my phone before massaging the muscles in my neck. That’s not what I was looking for when I asked to see Ang, but I want to be close with her again. It seems like we’ve been drifting, orbiting one another, but never finding the right time to connect. It’s not like I don’t want to sleep with her, to do something new and, yes, exciting. It’s just… I want to spend time with her, not jump into bed. Or pool in this case.
What if Ang’s dad comes home? He usually keeps a tight schedule, but that’s proven to be fallible. Over the years, Mr. Baker has been warm and welcoming, despite what my parents have said about him, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s her father. He likes me, but I don’t think he would appreciate me corrupting his daughter and pool. Plus, I’m in love with his books. I’m a hardcore ‘Bakehead’—the name lovingly bestowed on his fandom—and I don’t want to disappoint him or give him reason to doubt my integrity. I clank my keys against my palm, trying to weigh out the pros and cons as I navigate the crowded sidewalks to my car.
I’m a glutton for punishment. That’s the only explanation as to why I’m in the pool ten minutes later. I haven’t taken my trunks off yet because there is a lot of yard, and the fence line doesn’t seem all that high. I did search the house for Mr. Baker, but he isn’t home. One minor victory, I suppose.
In an effort to relax, I swim a few laps. The water flows through my fingertips, gliding along my chest and bubbling down my legs as I kick. The repetitive motions give me something to lock on to, and I continue for another ten minutes. As I pick up the pace, the splashes match the pounding of my heart.
With a new level of clarity, I think about how she loves me and wants to have fun with me. I can do this. I want to do this with her. Just like that time on campus. It’s going to be so hot, having Ang against me, her wet skin gliding against mine. I’ll sit on the stairs, stroking myself. She’ll swim up to me and I’ll settle her over my lap. Running my hands down her neck, grazing her body, until I… I stop swimming and reach into my shorts.
The image of hot, wet skin grinding against me causes my dick to twitch, so I run my hand up my length, a small gasp parting my lips. I think about the last time she wrapped her pouting mouth around me, her golden hair tickling my thighs before I wrapped it around my fist.
I squeeze my dick as all the blood in my body travels south at the idea of a hot mouth wrapped around my shaft, sucking me dry. Swimming to the shallow end, I rest on the stairs and throw my trunks onto the concrete. My hand returns to my shaft, gliding up the side, circling the head, and parting the sensitive slit. I hiss out a long breath as my body quakes at the sensation. Mierda, that feels good.
My hand slows as my brain tries to take the reins. It’s no easy feat, as my body’s wracked with searing, mind-numbing heat. All it wants to focus on is the pressure from my hand, but my mind won’t settle. This awareness takes hold, though I can’t put a name to it. I look around the pool, each stroke slower than the last. My finger dips into the sensitive spot under the head, causing my hips to buck above the water.
The odd sensation prickles my skin, almost like I’m being watched. I’m too far gone, my body refusing to do anything other than move me closer to an orgasm. In fact, my cock perks up at the idea, bobbing above the water.
My heavy-lidded gaze travels to the glass doors, hoping to see Ang. Hmm… Maybe she went to change into a swimsuit? I turn my attention to the second floor, hoping to catch sight of her in her bedroom window, but the curtains are shut. I stroke myself again, my eyelids fluttering, fighting to stay open, when something catches the corner of my eye from the second floor. I can’t focus on it. My lust is riding me hard, distracting me from what my rational brain is trying to tell me. I make myself stop, long enough to inspect the second floor, but I don’t see anything.
I look down at myself, the head bobbing above the water, a bead of pre-come leaking from the tip. Using it to rub a circle around my head, I then slide down, using the other hand to cup my balls, tugging on them lightly. I think about blond hair running through my fingers, a hot mouth swallowing me whole, a rough scratching sensation rubbing against my inner thigh.
Long, lean fingers grabbing my hips as I run my fingers through… brown hair. A tousled, just got out of bed look. My cock jerks angrily, ready for release. In the fantasy, I look down, expecting to see blue eyes peering up at me, so light they look almost like ice, but I’m met with a stormy dark blue gaze.
My breathing quickens as my hand pumps faster. Fuck. I’m so close to coming and I know I need to stop for some reason. I squeeze the base of my cock, trying not to come, to wait for Ang to get here. My hips thrust faster, higher, ensuring my cock continues to bob out of the water, completely ignoring the rational side of my brain. Each breath grows heavy as my orgasm threatens.
Vibrations wrack my body, my balls pulling tight as I bite my lip to muffle the sound of my release. Ropes of come shoot between my fingers, landing on my stomach as I stroke up, slowly, wringing out every drop. I tilt my face up as small shudders rock through my body and this time I see the curtain flutter, though I can’t see inside. Until I hear the glass doors open, I don’t stop staring. As my body falls back into the water, I clean myself off.
“Babe.” Ang cries out, panicked, as I refuse to open my eyes. I run my hand behind my neck, my blood pumping thick and oily through my veins.
The sun is blocked off as footsteps race closer. “Babe, my dad’s home. You need to get dressed, now.” And there’s the nail in the coffin. The last miniscule hope that I was wrong about who was upstairs. I pop my eyes open, meeting the icy blue eyes of my girlfriend, as she launches my swim trunks at my face.
I end up leaving, not wanting to run into Mr. Baker, and going without seeing Ang once again. Which might be for the best. The idea of seeing him, if he was in that window… God, I’d die of embarrassment.
He wasn’t though, and that’s the story I’m sticking to. I’m still in knots about what I did. I cling to one thought as I make my way home; according to Ang, fantasizing isn’t cheating. That’s what she always says when she shares her own fantasies. Sometimes it’s me, other times it’s some celebrity, one time it was a guy who was a barista at a coffee shop we frequented. Or that one time, on campus where she convinced me to touch her in an empty classroom, and another student stood outside the door. She whispered to me, telling me to let her watch, and I agreed. She always said, no big deal if I don’t act on it, right? I’d agreed at the time.
Now, this feeling rolling around my gut, choking the breath from me… It doesn’t seem harmless. Even though I don’t know if he was actually at the window. The air conditioning could have kicked on, making the curtain move, and I didn’t see it until I already came. Plus, lots of people have brown hair and blue eyes. I was so caught up in the moment my mind must have played tricks on me. It was a girl. With brown hair and blue eyes.
As a rule, I don’t share my fantasies with Ang. She never asks to hear them, and I never volunteer. I don’t want to appear weird or needy in the bedroom. I never told her that the same barista showed up in my dreams after she shared her fantasy, all three of us there, and he wasn’t touching her.