natural, because heat and shame both rode the same bus
to school, so far as I was concerned. Sweat pooled in my
to school, so far as I was concerned. Sweat pooled in my
armpits and salted my upper lip. I licked it away, wishing it
were someone else's tongue on my mouth. Another
person's hand between my legs.
Why had I cared so much what a stranger thought of me?
I groaned and closed my eyes to push away thoughts of
anything but the sensations building in my body. It was
easier to pretend that way, to imagine I wasn't alone in my
brand-new bed with the clean, new sheets that had never
had another body in them. With my eyes closed, the
whisper of my hand moving against my skin tugged my
ears.
Why did I want so much to folow the commands of a
stranger not even meant for me?
The oil slid from my fingertips down my labia and into the
crack of my ass. I used my other hand to folow its path. I
could probably come from this, in a minute or two, but I
stopped, thinking of how it had been such a short time
since last I'd done this. It didn't take a genius to figure out I
was psyching myself out, losing my orgasm to too much
thinking.
Or maybe I realy was embarrassed?
She might not be too smart, but she's pretty enough.
One of Stela's friends had said it, not knowing I could
hear.
I groaned. I didn't want to be thinking about my father's
wife and her friends when I was trying to get off. Yet the
hotter the oil on my clit got, the less interested I became in
finishing what I'd started. I stopped trying.
She might not be too smart, but she's pretty enough. Just
like her mother.
They'd laughed, but not as though they found the subject
realy funny. More like it embarrassed them. As a kid I
hadn't understood why, exactly, just that it had made my
stomach hurt to know Stela thought I wasn't smart, even if
I was my mother's pretty daughter. As an adult, I figured it
out. It embarrassed Stela to admit she'd married a man
who'd been so swayed by some tart, he'd knocked her up
and then had the compassion to make the bastard child a
part of his life. Sort of.
To them, I wasn't Paige. I was some slut's daughter.
Thinking of that, I understood something else, too.
I wasn't embarrassed by the fact a man I didn't know or
like, a gay dude, for that matter, didn't want to jump my
bones. No. What had been most embarrassing was not
that he didn't want to fuck me, but that he'd believed I was
something I wasn't.
