Prissy Rissy

The next morning, I was back at Blockbuster, walking around in a daze. Like Krissy had chloroformed me, rather than kissed me. We hadn't gone any further than that (OK, I'd sucked her earlobe and kissed her neck), but it still felt monumental. My lips were chapped from all that making out. My balls ached like I'd been hitting them with a hammer.

About an hour into my shift, Krissy, herself, showed up. Her hair was up in another headband, but the glasses were gone. I figured she'd put in her contacts that morning. Still the same general clothes: yellow sweater and jeans. I imagined she had a closet full of those outfits, like some kind of superhero.

Krissy beamed at me giddily as she returned the movie we'd watched. Like she was giving me something stolen, she secreted it over the counter. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the shelves.

The store was empty. Again, weekday morning. So, we were able to wander around, holding hands, like this was romantic. Krissy didn't try to kiss me, and I didn't want to push, so instead we tried to pick out our next film. The implication was obvious: we would be sharing another afternoon in her basement, exploring each other's bodies, while a semi-dirty movie played in the background and Krissy's mom did mom things up in the kitchen.

In that context, our choice of what to watch hardly seemed to matter. It's not like we would be paying attention to the thing. But now that I had an idea of what Krissy had been up to, I had a better idea.

You have to remember what year this was. There was no porn on the Internet because, mostly, there was no Internet (OK, technically there was some, but you try jerking off to a nude pic as it slowly loads up over a three-hour period). Finding anything erotic was an accomplishment. You could buy a magazine with an ID while an entire store stared at you (good luck). There were erotic literature books at the store in the mall, but they were more like weird Victorian curios than anything actually arousing.

And yes, there were porn videos. But Blockbuster didn't carry them. We would have had to go to the shady video store on the other side of the street with a hidden back room behind a black curtain. I'd have had better luck trying to get Krissy to go into a tiger's cage. So, while what we were looking for seems tame compared to what you can get today (and it is), at the time this was truly illicit stuff!

I knew I needed to find just the thing to help get Krissy in the mood for more than kissing. I went to the one movie I knew would help: Sliver.

Sliver is not a good film, but I knew it had Sharon Stone in a hot sex scene with William Baldwin fairly early on (my parents got HBO when we were teens, God bless them). The only issue was convincing Krissy to rent an erotic thriller. There was no way that chaste woman was going to agree to it without some serious cajoling.

The uptight blonde took one look at the cover I showed her. The smile on her face grew so wide, it almost swallowed her. She practically ran it up to the front so I could rent it to her.

Well, OK then.

Krissy was already raring to go, but I was stuck in the store for another few hours. To my surprise, rather than head home, she stayed there and kept me company. It was sweet. Sort of.

I don't want to give you the wrong impression. This was still Krissy I was dealing with. Resting bitch face was something that she could reasonably claim to have invented, and she wore it well. She stood by the wall, arms crossed under her breasts, and ticked away the minutes, glaring at the customers like their presence was personally insulting.

Finally, when my shift was over, we hurried out. This time, we did stop for lunch on the way home. We both got sandwiches at a nearby cafe, sitting across from each other under an umbrella at a table overlooking the expanse of suburban traffic and cracked sidewalk that surrounded the strip mall.

We probably looked like a couple, but we didn't act like one. Krissy didn't hold my hand or even glance my way through the whole meal. I couldn't shake the thought that she was epically pissed at me for some reason (it was a common reaction to spending time with her).

We did talk a bit -- or tried to, anyway. It was mostly the usual standard student stuff. College majors and the like.

"I'm studying to be a teacher," Krissy said, matter-of-factly. Like there was no other possible career she might consider.

"You like kids?" I asked.

"No," Krissy said. Again, so matter-of-fact. "You?"

"I'm OK with them, I guess," I said. The beautiful blonde gave me a withering look. "Oh, my major. Right. Journalism."

She nodded and went back to eating. For some reason, though, I felt the need to continue. "Or at least, that's what I thought I'd do. Now I'm not sure."

Krissy tilted her head at me, slightly. I realized this was her way of encouraging me to go on.

"It's just, I don't know, not what I expected," I said.

Krissy frowned at me. "It seems like a pretty straightforward job, Jacob."

"Sure," I said, "Of course. I guess I expected myself to love it and I don't. And it's the kind of thing where, it seems, that if you don't truly

love

it, the work isn't all that rewarding. If that makes sense."

"Not really."

"For someone who wants to make a living with words, I guess I should be better at explaining this, huh?"

Krissy nodded her head in agreement. We finished our lunch in silence. Finally, we paid the check and drove back, following the same plan as the day before.

I parked at my house and walked over to Krissy's. Her mom laid down the open-door law. Krissy dropped the VHS tape into the machine, and we settled into the couch. The only difference this time was that the blonde girl started out sitting right next to me.

But we didn't kiss. Not right away. At first, I thought maybe our tepid lunch date had killed the mood. Or maybe Krissy needed to get warmed up again. Then I realized: she was completely focused on the film in front of us. Krissy was anxiously awaiting the moment that the picture on the front of the box had promised.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally reached the key scene. Sharon Stone entered William Baldwin's apartment. They started making out on the couch.

Krissy leaned forward. Blue eyes wide. Mouth slightly agape. Legs slightly rolling against each other. I noticed she'd trapped her right hand between her thighs. Her fingers were both closer than she wanted and yet also achingly far away, I imagined.

Krissy watched the whole scene, frozen solid. When it was over, she blinked, like coming awake from a heavy dream. A trickle of sweat ran down her pink cheek. She turned to look at me, then tackled me to the cushions. Once again, I missed the rest of the movie. Once again, I caught the best show going.

Krissy kissed me hungrily, sloppily. Like she couldn't control her own body. Or, more accurately, like her body was completely in charge but had no idea what to do. She lay on top of me, instinctively grinding her crotch against my thigh. We bumped noses. Knocked teeth. But all we did in response was to giggle and keep going.

This time, Krissy was the aggressor. She kissed her way to my ears and neck, mimicking what I'd done to her the day before. Her perfect ass undulated up and down. I ran my hands down her back, her fuzzy sweater tickling at my palms. I needed to strip it off her something awful.

When Krissy gave me a moment to breathe, I reached down for the bottom of her top. I expected her to protest, but instead she raised her arms to make things easier for me.

I pulled the sweater over her head. She sat up, giving me a good look at what I'd uncovered. Her skin was pale and pink. As I'd thought, a thin layer of light blonde hairs ran from her wrists to her elbows, all standing on end like she'd been shocked. Her stomach wasn't toned but it was flat. Her breasts, covered by a hot pink bra, looked fuller than I'd imagined.

She had on a thin, gold string necklace with a tiny cross pendant. It winked at me from between her breasts, teasing, in the fluorescent light. I realized that, even with my crush, I'd greatly underestimated how sexy Krissy was.

I was treated to that sight of a lifetime for about a second and a half. Then Krissy dove back over me and resumed trying to kiss me to death. It would have been a great way to go.

Now I was tracing my hands up and down the warm, soft skin of her back. My fingers tripped over her bra strap, but I didn't dare try to unsnap it. Too many unknown factors played against my favor.

Instead, I grabbed Krissy's shoulders and flipped her over on the couch. She let out a little squeal as I did so. I could only hope the open door was further away than I remembered. Thankfully, no one came to investigate.

I kissed Krissy's cheeks and chin. Found that little freckle where her neck met her jawline and licked her there. The whole time, she kept arching her back, like trying to force my mouth to go lower.

I felt her hands at my waist and realized that she was trying to even things out. I sat up and pulled off my blue, Blockbuster-standard dress shirt. I don't know what Krissy was hoping for. I know I wasn't William Baldwin under there. I was broad chested, with brown hair on my pecs and stomach. I was a normally built, twenty-year-old male who didn't exercise all that much but didn't look like crap, either. Still, I thought that a girl like Krissy would demand something better than what I had.

But she took a good look, grinned, then pulled me down for more make out time. She ran her pink-tipped fingers through my chest hair and kissed me harder. Her bare skin felt amazing against mine.

Even better, she kept trying to hint at me to go further, and I guess I finally figured it out. I kissed down her chest to the valley between her bra-covered breasts. Lying on her back, her tits were a little less prominent, but no less impressive.

I skipped over the bra itself and went down to her tummy. I stopped at her waist and licked at where the top of her jeans met bare skin. Teasing my tongue under the elastic of her pink underwear. Goddamn, there was something about the way her clothes hugged her flesh; I couldn't wait to rip them off.

Again, though, I cautioned myself. Making out with Krissy was like working with a bomb. One wrong step and she would go off, and not in the good way. If I pushed her too far, too fast, she'd end everything forever. I needed to let her feel like she was leading the way. So, I did my best to stick with what I knew she wanted and not trip any wires.

Soon (far too soon), we heard the front door open, announcing that Krissy's father had come home from work. We jumped apart and quickly threw our shirts back on. Both of us were disheveled. Krissy couldn't keep the smile from her face. I kept touching her cheeks, running my fingers through her hair. We'd both tumbled into this thing, and it felt so inescapable. Yet also fragile. I kept waiting for my clumsy self to break it.

"Stay for dinner?" Krissy asked.

"I don't think your mom would be too happy about that," I said.

Krissy nodded. She knew it, of course. "I'll call you tonight," she said.

*

As part of my bar mitzvah gift seven years before, my parents had gotten me my own phone line. I used it mostly for dial-up in those days, but it also meant I didn't have to worry about disturbing anyone when my phone rang at 9pm that night. I lay down in bed, thankful to have the luxury of a cordless phone (it was massive, grey, and heavy as hell), and answered the call.

Krissy said hello, then paused for a moment. Listening.

"Get off the line, Mother!" Krissy said. It was the first time I'd ever heard her snap at her mom.

There was a long pause, then a distant click. I hadn't even heard the breathing, but Krissy had known to listen for it, I guess.

Krissy let out an exasperated shriek. "Sorry about that," she said.

For a moment, it was awkward. We tried to make the conversation happen, but it wasn't coming. We'd gotten good at using our mouths in other ways but talking wasn't one of our core competencies.

Finally, I said, "Today was a lot of fun."

"Totally!" Krissy said, and I could tell we'd finally found a subject she was interested in. "That movie was great."

Like we'd watched any of it

. I chuckled to myself. It was cute to hear the aloof girl let herself go. Like seeing a bunny enjoy a big, juicy steak. Similarly disturbing, as well. But then, that was part of the turn-on for me, I think. The idea that I was doing something really, truly wrong to her in some way.

"I'm glad you liked the movie," I said, "I wasn't sure you would. You know, with the, umm, the one scene."

I swear, I could hear the guilty grin Krissy was growing on the other side of the phone.

"Oh, that was the best part," Krissy said.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Krissy said, "It made me feel all fluttery. You know?"

"Can I be honest? I'm kind of surprised to hear that."

Krissy's voice went hard. "Cause I'm an ice princess?"

"What? No! Who told you that?"

"My freshman roommate," Krissy said, "My first boyfriend. Probably our entire high school."

"I don't see you that way at all," I said, "You're a little quiet sometimes. But I like that about you."

"Prissy Krissy. That's what they used to call me. I'm sure you heard them saying it."

"I never heard it," I said, "Honestly." Which was true. Not that I'd ever been in a position to catch someone saying it either. Like I said, Krissy and I ran in different circles.

"When I went to college, I thought it would be different," Krissy said, "That I would be different. Instead, it was worse. Girls giggling behind my back like I couldn't hear them. Guys calling me a bitch or, like, some closeted slut."

"I'm sorry," I said, "No one deserves to be treated that way."

"My roommate had a serious boyfriend and I'd come in and find them kissing, half-naked," Krissy said, "A bunch of times I had to sleep on the common room couch because they were going at it. I started to wonder what I was missing out on."

"So, you rented the movies," I said.

"Well, I got romance novels from the library first" Krissy said. I had the sense she was blushing. "But then the movies, yes. It's neat. Different. Watching those scenes makes me feel, like, jittery. Nervous and scared. I get all tingly in my tummy and my hoo-hoo."

"Your what-what?!"

"My hoo-hoo. My flower," Krissy said, "You know. My thing."

Holy fuck. I didn't think there was a 19-year-old woman on Earth who would use that word. Actually, I wasn't sure there was a 9-year-old who would. And yet, here I was talking to a grown woman who said 'hoo-hoo' like that was the proper medical term for it. Krissy was such a strange tangle. Yet, clearly, I was more than happy to let her tie me up.

"I like sharing all that stuff with you," I said.

"Me too," Krissy said, "It's fun. Do you think maybe we could, umm, rent another movie tomorrow?"

"Actually, I have off," I said. I liked to avoid the movie store when I wasn't working there. My life revolved around it enough as is.

"Oh," Krissy said, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

I thought about the lunch we'd had earlier that day. We were a couple -- couple-ish anyway -- but we still needed a catalyst. Spending the day together out and about wasn't exactly what Krissy had in mind.

"I'll go in first thing, grab a bunch of movies, and we can watch them all day," I said.

"Oh!" Krissy said, "Yes, that sounds great!"