so weird. With the other boys I'd had sex. But now I'd been fucked. It was a lot
different. When someone fucked you, it made you understand that you were female.
They were male and you were female and they fucked you. You did not fuck them.
And it seemed so weird and grim and scary it made me want to
Girl by Blake Nelson
* * *
JC was hesitant to call it anything else, as much as he wanted to; there just didn’t seem to be any other word for it. Made love. Had sex.
No. They’d fucked.
And it had been good, better than the last time he’d done either of the two alternatives. (Making love to Bobbie, having sex with the groupie in Chicago.) Chris’s hands clutching his wrists, pressing them into the pillow above his head; the taste of cotton in his mouth; the smell of sweat and man and sex. Chris’s body, hot against the arch of his spine.
Chris’s mouth, muttering dirty endearments into his ear.
He’d thought it’d be different afterwards. But no, Chris behaved exactly the same, fighting with him over the milk in the fridge, which Chris had, actually, bought at the last stop, but it was in the bus fridge so it was fair game, right? And curling up to sleep next to him on the couch at the Compound after rehearsals, and talking to him about the new Star Wars movie.
But JC was different. Tried not to be. Tried not to look at Chris and remember how his cum had tasted in JC’s mouth. How he’d moaned when JC murmured, “God, love you, love you,” into the pillowcase. How he’d left the next morning, when JC was feeling too sore and tired and used to move, with just a kiss on the top of his head and the click of the door closing behind him. JC had showered with the water as hot as possible, feeling like he had Chris’s fingerprints all over him. When he washed his hair, he remembered the pull and drag of Chris’s hands on his scalp, his low groan.
He turned the water on cold after that.
And then he’d gone down to breakfast, and smiled shyly at Chris, who gave him the obligatory nod before going back to arguing with Justin over the butter, just like he did every morning. JC had sat down at the table next to Lance, wanting to call his mom or curl up in Joey’s lap or do something else familiar. Feeling stupid. Feeling like a fucking teenage girl after she’d lost her virginity. Feeling, suddenly, just utterly, utterly fucked.