The Book

Jason shifted uncomfortably in the wooden desk. He was staring at the classroom door, waiting for Grace to walk through it. He glanced at the clock—less than a minute before the bell would ring. He had already been anxious, had barely made it through the night, but now his anxiety was shifting to fear. In the month that she’d been going to Huntington, she hadn’t been late, let alone absent, for a single English class.

As a general rule, Jason kept to himself. He had a few close friends at school—Matt, a tall, gangly, Marilyn Manson look-alike and Ron, a stocky, bearded outcast who wore Rob Zombie t-shirts, but mostly listened to Pink Floyd. Jason himself had been labeled a Goth kid, even though he didn’t see himself that way. He didn’t wear eyeliner or paint his nails, and if pressed he would say his favorite band was Led Zeppelin or Nirvana. He figured the classification must have started because he was tall, thin, more pale than tan, with longish dark brown hair. His wardrobe was on the darker side and featured combat boots and the occasional spiked dog collar. He kept a black, leather-bound book with him at all times, in which he was constantly writing his thoughts—both mundane and macabre. But he supposed it was the floor length trench coat that sealed his fate as a scary, potentially lethal Gothic figure.

He’d saved up for months to buy that fucking coat, too, and then those lunatics at Columbine had ruined it all. Jason could still wear it to school, but he had to keep it in his locker, lest any of the fragile little teenage minds be triggered by its presence. Jason scoffed at that. Triggered? By an event that happened a thousand miles away? The only good thing that had come of it was the fact that the jocks and the other assholes now left him alone, which was all he had been wanting in the first place.

At first, he didn’t even notice Grace. Jason had been sitting in A.P. English, the only class he actually enjoyed, when she showed up. Just another transfer student; nothing special. Jason didn’t look up from his book—he’d had these song lyrics stuck in his head all day and he couldn’t remember the band. He wanted to write them down and show them to Matt, who was an expert on random shit like that.

Things carried on as normal for the next few days. After Ms. Lopez went over their vocab, they were encouraged to take some time with a partner to study. Jason leaned back, prepared to do it on his own as he always did, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and Grace was leaning towards him, an apprehensive smile on her face. Before he could react, another girl, Erin, who was sitting in front of Grace, whipped around and said, “Hey, new girl, be my partner.”

Jason quickly turned his head away. He was surprised with himself for entertaining the idea of talking to her—it was so out of character for him. He tried to concentrate on the assignment, but found himself eavesdropping on the conversation.

“So, do you have a date for Homecoming yet?” Erin asked her. “Oh wait, of course you don’t, you just started here. Well, I can hook you up with my friend, Kal Martin.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Kal was a complete douchebag.

“That’s okay,” Grace replied. “I wasn’t planning on going.”

“What?” Erin cried, as if Grace had just revealed she liked to drown kittens for fun. “But you have to—it’s like the most important thing that’s going to happen all year. It’s going to be at the Radisson, which is the best and most expensive hotel in town!”

Grace smiled. “What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.”

Jason felt his breath leave his chest—did this girl just quote Tolstoy? The bell rang before he had time to even process what had just happened. Erin had paused, confused, then started to laugh.

“Oh, I get it, you’re dark.” Jason couldn’t tell if Erin was being sarcastic. But with the next sentence he knew. “You should meet Huntington’s own little Goth boy, Jason Silver. I’m sure you two would get along really well.” Erin laughed again and walked out of the classroom.

Jason said nothing, only continued to gather his things into his backpack. He went to sling it over his shoulder, and then he noticed she was standing on the other side of his desk.

“Hi Jason,” she said softly. He looked at her, only this time he really saw her. Her light brown hair was cut short and curled underneath her chin. Large emerald eyes offset her heart-shaped face, and the tips of her long eyelashes almost brushed against her arched eyebrows. “I’m Grace.”

“Hey,” he replied. “Tolstoy?”

She grinned. “Who else can make the average high school kid confused and pissed off at the same time?”

He laughed in spite of himself, and spent the rest of the day trying to get her out of his mind. But it was no use—even if he was able to distract himself, the next day there she was, walking into the classroom. Always dressed casually in jeans and tank tops, but she would walk past him and he could smell her; it was a mix of Nag Champa and a kind of spicy rose. He loved her insights in class; she was one of the few students who was actually engaged in the texts they were discussing. So often she would say what Jason himself was thinking.

They had a few brief exchanges before or after class; she would mutter something good-naturedly sarcastic and he would acknowledge her. He was caught off guard that a girl in that town and that was his own age was so appealing to him. Every other woman he’d been with had been older subs that he’d met at underground bars that Matt dragged him to every now and again. Women with kids his age who loved nothing more than to be tied up and dominated. It was weird—he had never thought of himself as particularly authoritative, but these women who were so well-versed in that world sensed something in him that he hadn’t tapped into. They sought him out, and afterwards would all say the same thing—that he looked strong, assertive, but also tender and considerate. They trusted him to go with them to the darkest recesses of their own subconscious, but knew that he had enough self-control to only go as far as they were willing.

Jason smiled to himself as he though of the last woman he had been with. She was tall, voluptuous, with shoulder-length black hair and teased bangs. She wore tight leather, fishnets and five inch black pumps. Her dark eyes were half-lidded, heavy with liquid eyeliner, smoky shadow, and fake eyelashes. She’d taken him to a rent-by-the-hour motel a few blocks south of the bar. After he ordered her to strip, he tied her wrists to the bedposts and climbed on top of her.

She’d wanted him to choke her while he fucked her. It was an odd sensation, a first for him, holding this woman’s throat in his hands as he slid into her. Her mouth contorted in ecstasy as he plunged in and out of her. Before that moment, he would have balked at the idea of choking a woman while he was having sex with her—Jason just wasn’t a violent person. But both he and the woman understood that this had less to do with brutality and more to do with the highly erotic state that accompanied putting your trust in a complete stranger. He was hyper-aware of the pressure he applied to her neck, when he was limiting her air supply and when he was completely cutting it off; he knew exactly when she wanted him to back off and when he should tighten his grip.

Afterwards, the woman kissed his forehead and thanked him, and disappeared. Jason took a few moments to reflect on what had happened. It was the most present he had ever been during any sexual experience—and he wondered if it was because of the act itself, or a more secondary reaction. He’d never fucked anyone he loved, or even who he had any emotional attachment to. He didn’t know if choking the woman was so erotic because it forced him to pay strict attention to her every moan, gasp, eye flutter, or if the kink just turned him on in general. Maybe if—

“You don’t say much,” Grace said, interrupting his thoughts. The bell had rung and she had already gathered her things.

“The music is nothing if the audience is deaf,” he replied.

She smiled. “Lippman. It is surprising how many idiots made it into an advanced placement class.”

“It’s not just this class,” he replied, and picked up his book.

“You’re always writing,” she commented, without any mocking in her voice. “It makes me very curious.”

They walked down the hall together. “I don’t know if you could handle the things I’ve put in here.”

She stepped in front of him, stopping him short. “I’d like it if you’d try me.”

What possessed him to give his book to her, he figured he’d never know. That night had been torture for him… he was mentally taking stock of everything he’d put in that book—his fantasies, his more homicidal musings, his longings, his frustrations. He tried to sleep, but then all of a sudden he’d shoot up and think about the sketching he’d done of a nude woman, hands bound over her head, gagged. He’d roll over and feel sick, and then remember all the things he’d written after Ron had tried to kill himself. Jesus, maybe Jason had crossed the line by giving her the book…

The next day at school, the minutes ticked by with excruciating indolence. When fourth hour came around he rushed into A.P. English, but she wasn’t there yet. Now he was staring back and forth between the clock and the door. There was less than a minute left before the bell rang—what would he do if she didn’t show up?

As soon as he finished the thought she rushed into the room, clutching his book. She walked up to him, avoiding his eyes, and set it down on his desk. She turned around and walked out as quickly as she had come in. His heart sank. She couldn’t even look at him, let alone be in the same room as him.

Jason looked down and noticed that there was a folded up piece of notebook paper stuck in between its pages. He tore it open.

‘Meet me by the baseball diamond,’ it read.

He couldn’t move quickly enough—he shoved his things into his backpack and bolted out of the classroom, down the hall and outside to the back. He didn’t see anyone on the field, but he kept walking towards the dugout.

She was sitting inside it, on the bench, and looked up as he walked down the steps. He took it as a good sign that she was willing to be alone with him, but she wasn’t smiling and her eyes were wide.

He refused to speak first.

“Jason,” she said, and he shuddered. Her voice was a perfect contradiction, lyrical and husky. He found himself moving towards her swiftly, until he was sitting next to her with her hands in his. “I can’t even begin to express how… I mean, I just don’t have the words to say how moved I was by everything you’ve written. I’m just so… honored that you gave it to me.”

He said nothing in return, overwhelmed by what she was saying; he simply stared into her eyes. They were like jade pools, deep in the woods, reflecting the leaves but hiding the aquatic life. He heard her words, but wasn’t sure if he could see her sincerity…

“And the things you wrote about Ron…” she turned her head, staring out onto the baseball diamond and clenching her jaw. “Two months ago, my sister hanged herself. She stayed home sick, my mother had gone to work, and when I came home from school I found her in the basement. She didn’t even leave a note.” Grace turned back toward Jason. Her eyes had opened up, tears slipped down her cheeks.

He took her face in his hands, kissed her forehead, then kissed each of her eyelids. She moved into him and their lips met, softly at first but then they were both ravenous, as if they had been hungry for something that only the other could offer.

He laid her back on the bench and moved his hands up her waist to her breasts. He hesitated, wondering briefly if pursuing her just after she’d disclosed how her sister had committed suicide would be in poor taste, but Grace arched her back under his touch. She tugged at his shirt and he pulled it over his head; she moved her hands over his slender chest, which was lightly brushed with dark brown hair.

He ran his hands slowly down her waist; his thumbs grazed her slight hipbones. As his hands moved, he noticed that she wasn’t dressed in her usual jeans-tank top combination, but in a thin, cotton sundress. He slid his hands down farther and made contact with her warm thighs. Under his touch, she instinctively parted her legs, and he saw she wasn’t wearing underwear. His heart leaped—she’d prepared for him to take her.

He dipped his head down, kissing the inside of her thighs, working his way towards her sex. She pushed her fingers into his hair, guiding him closer to her pussy, which was opening like a flower for him. She anticipated his mouth, and was surprised when she felt the rough but gentle touch of his fingertips.

Jason ran his fingers along her wet slit, and she moaned. A shudder passed though his body at the sound of her voice; he couldn’t believe how much of an effect she had on him. He couldn’t resist tasting her, so he moved in closer, with the intention of making her come using only his mouth and hands. He ran the tip of his tongue over her clit, and she gasped; he spread her lips and took her clit into his mouth, sliding his middle finger inside of her and curling upwards to find her G-spot. He could feel her tightening around him, so slipped in another finger and moved slowly in and out, while still licking and sucking her clit with voracity.

Finally he felt her pelvic muscles contract ferociously, and her hips lifted up off the bench, a loud and triumphant cry bursting from her throat. Her head thrashed from side to side, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He felt his sex pushing against his jeans; it was almost painful, and he was surprised to find himself enjoying watching her in the throes of pleasure too much to be distracted by it.

As the pulsing subsided, Grace’s eyes opened and she gazed at him with love and surprise. She was struggling to catch her breath, but she murmured, “No one… has ever given me… a orgasm before…”

He smiled; it was the greatest compliment he had ever received. He pressed his lips against hers and teased her tongue with his. He felt her hands struggling with the buttons on his jeans and winning, pushing them down along with his boxers. Jason felt the cold air rush over his exposed cock, contrasted with her soft, warm hands guiding him towards her, pressing his head against her dripping pussy.

Jason broke the kiss. She was startled, and stared up at him questioningly. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a little surprised at himself that he was holding back. But he wanted to make sure that she really did want this as much as he did.

“Since the first moment I saw you,” she replied, her voice honey-coated gravel.

He slipped his head inside of her, feeling resistance, but her hands were on his hips and pulled him closer to her. He slid in inch by inch, feeling every contour of her womb, watching every reaction of her face, noticing every time her nose crinkled with pain, seeing every gasp of pleasure; her mouth opened and closed with uncontrolled gratification.

When he was fully inside her, he whispered, “Are you all right?” She nodded quickly, and kissed him. He slowly moved in and out of her; his increases in speed followed the intensity of her breaths and whimpers. Soon he was thrusting back and forth with a measured aggression, and he felt her hands tugging roughly on his hair. The contrast of pain and pleasure was nothing new to him, but the sensations were intensified because of her.

He slid his hands up her arms and held her wrists above her head. He did this without thinking, somehow knowing it was what she wanted him to do. Their bodies crashed together again and again, and as soon as he realized he couldn’t hold out any longer, he felt her sex begin to contract around his with a vengeance. He came inside her with a vigor he’d never experienced, as she shouted affirmations into the sky.

They were met with no sounds but their own struggles to catch their breaths. He pressed his mouth against her neck and she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“I think I love you,” she murmured. “Is it all right to say that?”

“Christ, yes!” he replied quickly and they both laughed. “Don’t ever stop saying it.”

He pulled out of her gently, a leftover whimper escaped from her throat. He still held her, not wanting to let her go.

“That was my first time,” she told him.

“I thought so.”

He felt her pushing on his shoulders, so he propped himself up, concerned that she was pushing him away from her. But she was smiling. She placed two hands delicately on the sides of his face and whispered, “Next time… I want you to tie me up.”

He laughed with exultation and buried his head between her breasts.

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