She’s laying underneath me on the back seat of the bus. The men are lined up on either side of us, mostly sitting, expectant. We’ve already placed our toys and props on the sticky shelf behind us. On the wall, muted porn spills blue light onto their faces. I wonder if porn comes standard when you book a party bus for a bachelor party. I almost ask.
Her body is pale and smooth and startlingly bright in the dim light. Bambi’s chestnut hair fans against the white sheet we’d spread out under our bodies, her brown eyes opened up to me. I kneel over her, waiting for the boys to quiet before I go over our rules.
* * *
At ten, I was the shy bony girl with a lisp, wispy blonde bangs always in my eyes. I preferred to be hidden. My best friend had a bodacious laugh and hugging her felt like sinking into a beanbag chair; she was warm and soft and solid in her embrace.
Sarah and I would steal away at parties, preteen romance novels behind our backs. We’d take each book and skim through the worn pages, seeking out any hint of sex. Our bodies buzzing, we’d read the passages aloud to each other in whispers. Every innuendo brought us closer to understanding our longing, the low rush that rippled under our skin. Closer to teenagedom.
* * *
“Is everyone ready?” I’m absentmindedly running my left thumb up the inside of Bambi’s thigh. Several men hoot their assents, and I continue, “Rule number one - Be quiet!” I snap my hands to my hips in mock reproach as my declaration interrupts the two drunkest men of the group. Everyone laughs.
“In all seriousness, I recommend that you guys stay as quiet as you can. How else will you be able to hear the noises I get out of this pretty girl?” On cue, Bambi squirms a little and smiles.
“Which brings me to the second rule: No doubt, you fellas are fabulous in bed, and at least one of you might have some suggestions as to what we should be doing to each other. Rule number two is that you keep these thoughts to yourself.” I thumb the outside of Bambi’s thong and giggle. “I promise Bambi and I know exactly what the other likes, so you’ll have to trust us.
“Rule number three: This sheet is our island, and you are not allowed to come on the island. I realize it’s more like a peninsula, since we’re on a bus, but this means that you guys need to give us space to do what we do. You can move around for a better view, and you can show your appreciation with tips, but please don’t touch us or throw money at our bodies. The last thing you want to do is fuck with our mojo.”
“Amen to that,” someone hoots out from the back, and the bus erupts in laughter.
“Our last rule is one of the most important. I almost feel like I don’t even have to mention it since I haven’t seen a single camera tonight. But if anyone photographs us during the show, we will stop immediately and leave, no questions. This is a deal-breaker for us, and it’s only fair that I let you know. But really, you guys have been so good!” I lean up and stroke the chest of the nearest guy then settle back down onto my heels. “Okay, is everyone ready? Music please!”
* * *
Sarah’s mom didn’t work, and mine did, so we spent a lot of time at her house. As many times as I visited, her home always unnerved me. Her mom was nice, but her hair was suspiciously unkempt. The house was clean, but cold and damp, especially in the basement where we played. The rec room we spent most of our time in doubled as a guest room; sometimes we’d strip the blankets off the bed and make forts.
One day, bored, Sarah asked me if I wanted to play a new game. She closed the door of the room then went to the spare dresser. She pulled out several balls of exercise socks.
Sarah held one out to me out to me and said, “You can be the boy, and I’ll be the girl.” She demonstrated how, pushing two balls of socks up under her shirt. I followed suit, fitting a balled pair into the crotch of my pants. We lay down on the bed, considering. We fumbled around until I, being the small one, was on top of her. Our breath was shallow as we started to grind, to imitate our vague idea of sex.
“It’s sexier if you moan” She posited, and so we moaned. She was right. Her sock breasts rubbed against the sensitive skin of my flat chest. The knot of socks between my legs was awkward yet smoldering. I felt a tingling thrill mixed with the understanding that we were doing something wrong. If I’d known the word perverted, I’d have used it.
“Like this” She said, and pressed the back of her open palm to her pursed mouth, moving her head in circles to mimic a passionate kiss. I did the same, and we put our hands together. We grabbed each other. We held on.
* * *
A two-girl show on the back of a bus is not ideal. We’d had no chance to clean up, to lift baby wipes to our salty bodies, sticky with whipped cream and coke residue. No chance to check in one more time with her boundaries, to explain what we were going to do, how we were going to do it. Just follow my lead, I’d told her in the car on the way here. I’ll tell you what to do, I promise. I told her how we usually fake giving head, but that the insertion is real. I told her about breathing heavy and making out and faking orgasms at certain moments.
That was only two hours ago, but I can tell she is unsure and nervous. I can see the whites of her eyes. She’s never fucked a girl before, let alone for hire in front of a busful of coked-out, drunken 30-something professionals.
Massive Attack comes on over the stereo. I breathe deeply. I drop my eyelids halfway and let my exhale be audible, husky. I bring my hands to Bambi’s body and she’s lying there, still. She’s looking at me and waiting and I brush my fingers down her torso and then up to her breasts. I touch them and moan and realize that my performance is turning me on.
I’m obviously in charge. It’s role I relish, and it makes Bambi feel safe. I’m pulling her hair and telling her what to do in a sultry voice, but really I’m asking her, is this okay? How about this?
I pull off her clothes and then mine and I press my body against hers. I kiss the inside of her thigh. I present her pussy to the crowd then tongue around her clit, blond hair falling over my face. For effect, I wet my lips and moan again. She gets the idea, writhing under my touch.
We use a variety of toys on each other, my commands a steady murmur. Come here and use this on my clit. Not too hard. Yes. More. Like that. Good girl. Now turn around. You want this one? Like this? Harder? You’re such a good girl. She doesn’t say a word.
I remember those few times Sarah and I played our secret game.
I remember feeling warm and blurry, my body smudged with desire.
I remember the thrill of pretend.
I remember Sarah instructing me, showing me what to do, how to play.
I turn and grab our showstopper, a translucent pink double–headed dildo. I hand her a chocolate-flavored condom and hold the toy as she rolls it down the end with her lips. My little cockslut. Just like that. I do the same, showing her how to interlace her legs with mine as I fit the dildo between us. Within moments, we’re moving back and forth together. Appreciative gasps come from the crowd. Bambi follows my thrusts as I take her through a variety of positions, sometimes holding onto her hips, sometimes slapping her pale ass.
In a complicated but precise maneuver, we come to our hands and knees, and the men yell out, awed. I had told her in the car this was it, our finale. Slow down. Really slow. Perfect. Just like that, you sweet girl. Faster. My hand is on my clit and my head is bowed as we fuck, the smack of our skin loud and fast. Faster. Yes. Yes. And then I scream, grunt, buck, the dildo still sliding in and out of both of us. I can hear her slight noise underneath my own, feel the quake of her thighs. We slow. I reach back and ease the toy out of me, out of her. Here, like this, I say. And everyone claps as we put the toy into our mouths, tasting ourselves and the tangy remnants of chocolate flavoring.
After the last tips are showered onto our sweaty bodies, the men depart the bus to smoke. “Thank you,” Bambi says as we hunt for our clothes. I reach out. I touch her arm.