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: : : SHE GETS HIS PANTS DOWN around his knees and wraps him in her mouth. A pulse passes through him, as certainly as if he'd stuck his fist in a tub full of electrified water. His body spasms and he flails his arms out, grabs the leg of the coffeetable. He needs to grab something. Anything. Any anchor. He jerks again and pulls the whole table towards him. He's not really thinking words at this point but even without language his consciousness has a definite gist, an intention, and that intention is to not come, not yet, to prolong this moment for as long as possible. Just a second, he manages to think, just a second. Then it's too late, he comes, and even though it feels good the orgasm is all shot through with shame; he wishes he had held out longer; he feels bad for her, too, feels bad that she has to deal with a mouthful of jizz—he can't imagine that that would be very nice.
She gets up off of him, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and grins. He's a little surprised. This is the second blow job he's ever gotten, and he remembers how the first one ended up—Jennie Branch, hurrying straight to her bathroom to brush her teeth. Megan doesn't seem like she's going to take off or anything so he relaxes, allows himself to look at her a little. He got her out of her shirt and he looks at her breasts; they're nice, although they look different from how he imagined they'd be.
She catches him looking and she strikes a pose, jutting her chest out, and then she laughs and crosses her arms over herself.
—Where's my shirt, she asks.
Tim, still lying on the floor, feels a nagging sense that there's something he should be doing here, but he's not sure what it is. Kiss her? Say thank you? Try to fuck her? His dick is all soft now—he feels a little humiliated by it. He pulls his jeans back up.
She's found her shirt and put it back on, and now she's sitting at the computer, looking at the porn that's up there from before. She clicks around for a second or two.
—Hey, he says. He still feels embarrassed that she's looking at that stuff but this time he can't quite muster the energy to get up and stop her. —Do you have to be looking at that?
—Well, you never answered my question, she says.
—What question? he says, wearily.
—Guys and porn, she says. —Like what's the deal there?
—What deal?
—I don't know, she says. —Like—OK, look at this.
He sits up. She's pointing at an animated banner ad depicting a cock moving in and out of a woman's mouth. Tim winces.
—Now when you see that—Megan asks, —well—let me ask it this way—do you think of me like that?
—What? Tim says. —No.
—But I just sucked your dick.
—I guess, says Tim.
—You guess? says Megan.
—I mean, what do you want me to say? Yeah, you sucked my dick, ok, yeah.
—So what's the difference between me and her? Megan asks.
—I don't—I mean—what do you mean? Tim says. —I mean, that shit—it's not real. Looking at porn isn't like being with a person.
—But it turns you on?
—I don't know.
—Come on, Pollard, either it turns you on or it doesn't. Be a man and give me an answer.
—Sometimes, Tim says. —I guess? Other times it all seems just kind of nasty. Like if you've seen too much of it?
—Do you ever beat off to it?
—Megan—
—It's not that hard of a question, Megan says.
—I don't want to talk about that, Tim says.
—What about me, she says. —You ever beat off thinking about me?
He looks away. —Look, he says, —would you just lay off a little?
—Fine, she says, in a tone that indicates immense boredom. She looks back at the screen and clicks around some more.
—Hey, he says. —My parents use that computer so make sure you clear the history when you're done.
—I will, she says.
—You can do it by going up to the Tools menu and—
—I know how to clear a history, she says.
: : :
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