Nolan Trilogy (4 page)

“Erica gets all the boys.”  She knew her words would break the spell, distract them both with mention of his daughter and her best friend, and they did.

“Tell me about it.”  Mr. Nolan snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a step back and offering her a hand.  She took it, letting him help her off the desk.  “That Bobby-what’s-his-name calls constantly.  He seems to be the front-runner.” 

“Yes,” Leah agreed as they headed back to the living room.  “He’s a nice boy.” 

Nice.  Well that wasn’t exactly the truth.  Nice enough, she supposed.  Played football and baseball and drove a nice car and came from “good stock,” as her mother would say.  But she wasn’t about to tell him what sinful things Bobby liked to do to Erica in the backseat of his brand new 1956 Ford Thunderbird, or what he liked to have Erica do to him.  Not that Mr. Nolan would be surprised, if the secret pictures he’d taken were any indication.  Leah’s definition of “nice boy” was changing by the moment.

“Took you long enough to order a pizza,” Mr. Nolan remarked as Erica came back into the living room.  He was messing with the rabbit ears on the television, trying to get Dick Clark, who had just started hosting
American Bandstand
last year, to come in more clearly. 

“Bobby called.” 

Leah and Mr. Nolan exchanged knowing looks and they both grinned as Erica flopped down on the couch with an issue of
Modern Teen
magazine, a pouting Elvis on the front, singing under her breath to
“Don’t Be Cruel.” 
Leah joined her friend and things slipped back slowly into place as they flipped through the pages together, talking about the latest Peter Pan collars and Elvis’s new movie while Mr. Nolan read the
Detroit Free Press
in his arm chair. 

By the time pizza arrived, Mr. Nolan was snoring, and Erica ran to the door to answer it, Leah following close behind.  Sometimes they sent Rodney Emerson, who went to their sister school, St. Casimir, on the other side of town.  He worked at Buscemi’s delivering pizzas, and he was awfully cute, but this time it was Paul Buscemi himself, gruff and to the point.  Erica just took the pizza and told him to put it on her father’s tab. 

“Think we should wake him?”  Erica was already opening the box, lifting out a hot, cheesy slice before handing it over to Leah.  They sat on the floor in front of the television, the pizza between them.

“I’m awake.”  Mr. Nolan opened one eye.  “Don’t eat it all.” 

“Daddy, can Leah stay over tonight?”  Erica inquired sweetly.  “We have a project to work on for World Religion.” 

He readily agreed, joining them on the floor with the pizza, and Leah probably would have stayed there all night talking with him about his photo shoots with celebrities—Mr. Nolan had photographed the most interesting people, including Elvis, although his daughter insisted she would never forgive him for not figuring out a way for the girls meet him—but Erica insisted on dragging her to the bedroom, where they stayed up well after midnight, playing 45s on her record player and doing far more giggling than working on their project.

“How long have you known about your dad’s… collection?”  Leah pulled one of Erica’s long nightgowns over her head to sleep in as they were getting ready for bed.  The girls wore each other’s clothes constantly. 

Erica grinned, rolling over onto her belly on the bed.  “A while.” 

Leah raised her eyebrows.  “Really?” 

“Yup.”  Erica shoved her books off the end of her bed and yawned. 

“Doesn’t it make you feel…?”  Leah struggled to find the right words, but all of them were far too embarrassing.

“Horny?”  Erica giggled at Leah’s shocked expression.  “Oh come on, girls feel horny too.  Do you think married women don’t like it?” 

Leah stared at her, contemplating this new thought.  Maybe it was because her own mother wasn’t married that it had never really occurred to her?  “So tell me the truth then… have you and Bobby… you know…?” 

“No!”  Erica made a face.  “I’m still a virgin.  I definitely don’t want to end up with a bun in the oven! Geeze Louise.” 

Leah slipped into the sleeping bag Mr. Nolan had retrieved out of the hall closet, trying to reconcile Erica’s belief she was still a virgin with the fact she and Bobby had clearly done far more than just kiss, which was, admittedly, about all Leah had done.  She just lived vicariously through Erica.  And now that she’d seen those photographs, the possibilities had suddenly become staggeringly endless. 

“I sneak them out to look at them sometimes,” Erica confessed, turning off the light.  “Which one was your favorite?” 

The darkness made Leah feel bolder, but she still felt as if she had to whisper, wondering if her friend would even remember the specific photograph.  “There was the one I showed you, with the two girls and the one guy together...” 

“Oh yes, that one.”  Erica’s voice grew warmer in the dark.  “The one where he was on his back, and one girl was sitting in his lap, while the other one was sitting on his face?” 

“Erica!”  Leah’s cheeks pinked, even in the darkness, hearing her say those words, but they brought the memory of the photo immediately up in her mind, blackly exciting. 

“Am I right?”  her friend prompted breathlessly.  “Was that the one?  Where he’s having sex with one girl and going down on the other?” 

“Ummm.”  Leah closed her eyes, trying to hide, Erica’s words astonishing her into agreement.  “Yeah.” 

“I like the ones with two guys and a girl too.”  Clearly she’d been holding this information in, keeping the secret under the loft from everyone, including her best friend, for far too long.  She was eager to share it now.  “Seeing her suck on a guy while he’s inside of her… I’d love to know what that’s like.” 

“Has Bobby...”  Leah hesitated, biting her lip, squirming in the darkness.  “Done that to you?  With his mouth?” 

“Ohhhh God, yes.”  Erica moaned softly, the sound of it making Leah glow bright red, her friend’s voice dropping even lower.  “You can’t imagine how it feels.  You know how good it feels when you touch yourself down there right?” 

“Erica!”  Leah turned her hot face against the coolness of the pillow.  They’d talked in general about boys and parking and petting and the difference between first, second and third base, and when it was or wasn’t appropriate to go that far, but somehow seeing those photographs, everything splayed out so clearly in black and white, had changed their dialogue.  Things were more open now, shamefully, excitingly open.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never touched it!”  Erica whispered, sounding dumbstruck. 

Leah’s voice was muffled in the pillow.  “A little.” 

She knew it was a sin, but sometimes late at night Leah would wake up from a hot, throbbing, red-tinged dream with both hands wedged between her thighs, not even remembering the dream itself, just the feeling, a desperate ache for release she didn’t quite understand. 

“Oh, Leah, you have no idea!”  Erica whispered, moaning again softly and Leah could hear a faint, wet sound.  “Bobby’s tongue right here, right on this spot...” 

Leah froze.  “Erica, what are you doing?” 

“Touching it,” her best friend confessed.  She could hear the rustling in the dark.  My God, the audacity! Leah knew she should be aghast, appalled.  But like the photographs, the sound of Erica touching herself was irresistible, making her breath come faster, her heart race.  “Go ahead, Leah.  Touch yourself.” 

“It’s a sin!”  she protested, but that gentle pulse between her thighs had grown unbearable.  There must be something to make it stop! Leah did something she’d never done, at least while she was awake—she slipped her hand down over her underwear in the darkness and cupped the swollen mound of her sex.  It ached, and felt better when she touched it.

“But it feels so good, I can’t stop,” Erica protested, the wet sound growing louder, her breathing fast too.  “Doesn’t it feel good?” 

“Mmmm.”  Leah rocked her palm up and down, back and forth, hips moving in spite of her apprehension.  “Ohhh yes.  Yes!” 

“Rub it with your finger,” Erica urged.  “Right at the top.  Right… ohh… right there.” 

“Inside?”  Leah washed herself regularly, religiously, and yes, it felt nice when she ran a soapy washcloth between her legs, in a pleasant sort of way, but this was different. 

“There’s a spot, a little spot, right up top,” Erica explained.  “Do you feel it?” 

“Ummm...”  Leah focused, fingers slippery with wetness—gosh, things got so wet down there when she was excited like this!—parting the soft, curly hair, probing through her own slit.  Everything felt so puffy and hot.  “Oh! Ohhhh!” 

“That’s it.”  Erica giggled.  “That’s the spot.  That’s right where Bobby puts his tongue.  Oh the first time he did it, I was so embarrassed, I thought I would die, but he wouldn’t stop.  He kept licking.  And licking.  And licking.  Until… until...” 

“Until?”  Leah panted, her fingers making easy, natural circles around that tender nub of flesh.  What was it that made it feel so good?  How could she have such a sensitive place on her own body and not know it?  “Ohhh my.  Oh that’s so nice!” 

“I’ll say.”  Erica was practically panting now.  “Just keep doing it.  If you keep doing it, something amazing happens.  I can’t even describe it.” 

“Something… amazing…?”  Leah had never felt anything like this.  Her body was doing things all on its own, the muscles in her thighs growing taut, her bottom clenching.  She was ashamed to feel her own nipples hardening under her nightgown, rubbing against the soft cloth.  Her breasts were tiny, and her nipples so sensitive they sometimes got hard enough they hurt when it was cold outside.  But they didn’t hurt now.  The more they hardened and moved under the material as she squirmed, the more aroused she became.  It was as if there was a direct line of fire from her breasts to the sweet spot her fingers were working between her legs.  She couldn’t imagine how anyone could stand this much heat without exploding.

“Totally amazing,” Erica agreed, breathless.  Leah knew her friend was rubbing herself, just like she was, both of them doing such shameful, sinful things in the dark.  She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t stop.  She couldn’t.  Erica had been quite right.  It felt too good to stop.  “Beyond amazing.  Beyond beyond...” 

“I just keep seeing them, all the pictures, all the bodies, all that flesh...” 

“Yes,” Erica whispered.  “All the sex.  All the fucking...” 

“Oh my God, Erica!”  Leah was truly shocked by her friend’s language, but her body undeniably liked it, her excitement growing as if someone had just thrown gasoline on a fire. 

“All the licking and sucking and fucking!”  Erica hissed, the springs on her little twin mattress bouncing with her motion on the bed.  “Ohhh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” 

“What’s happening?”  Leah whispered in the darkness, not just asking Erica but herself as well, toes curling, nipples straining under her nightgown, her fingers making furious circles over that critical spot. 

“It’s happening! Oh it’s happening!”  Erica moaned softly on the bed, and Leah listened, remembering photo after photo, body after body, all the licking, all the sucking, oh and yes, all the fucking going on.  It was all so strange and overwhelming and oh, so very exciting. 

“What’s happening?  What?”  Leah cried, pulling the sleeping bag down a little, all frantic and hot. 

“Oh I want it,” Erica moaned.  “I want him inside me, fucking me.  Mmmm yeah like that.  I want to know what it feels like to get fucked...” 

Leah moaned too, hearing the wet noises growing louder from Erica’s bed. 

“Mmmm! So close!”  Erica panted, and all Leah could see when she closed her eyes was that woman on her knees, swallowing him whole, crying dark tears.  Why was it so arousing?  Leah writhed on the floor, her hand locked between the tight press of her thighs as she listened to the soft squeak of the mattress and box spring. 

“Are you close, Leah?”  Erica panted in the darkness.  “Are you going to come?”