Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Thankfully, she saves me from my dirty thoughts. Daphne stops and looks me in the eyes. "It is my turn."
In the game. It is. Is she daring me to pick truth? Sort of. I nod. "It is."
"Jackson, truth or dare."
I don't know if this is bait, but I take it anyway. "Truth."
"What sort of aids do you use to masturbate?" Her tone is as clinical as her language.
Thank fuck. Even with the detached words, I still hear Daphne Webb wants to think about your dick.
I need to respond with the same clinical demeanor. As if this is only about the game. As if I'm not saying I really want you to know about my dick.
"You mean, when I'm not on the phone with my ex?" I try to keep it light.
It doesn't work. The shift in subject sends interest back into her eyes. "That isn't masturbation."
"I'm touching myself."
"For her," she says. "With her help. If one person comes with the aid of another, that's sex."
"What if they don't come?"
"Because they were interrupted?" she asks. "Or because the intent wasn't orgasm?"
"Either."
"Depends," she says. "If you have to ask, it's probably sex."
That's a better definition than mine. It would have kept me from having phone sex with my ex for months.
How can I even suggest it's not sex? Sex is right there in the title.
It's not as intimate as other things, but it's a relationship all the same.
Now, when I'm really on my own—
That's a harder question to answer.
I don't masturbate often. It's not a lack of interest in sex. Quite the opposite.
The more I want it, the more I delay.
Some things are better when you wait. With sex—
Waiting is half the fun. Most of it even.
Still. I'm not a monk. I do enjoy solo sessions from time to time.
"Usually, I replay memories," I answer honestly, with as little embellishment as possible. "Sometimes, I imagine a scenario. Occasionally, I use an old picture or clip. One an ex gave me permission to keep."
"Doesn't that bother your new girlfriend?" she asks.
"I don't do it if I have a new girlfriend."
"But you replay memories of exes?" she asks.
"Of course. Don't you?"
"No," she says. "But it's not your turn yet. You didn't answer the entire question."
I answered most of it. But she's right. We agreed to these rules. I will honor them. "I use lube. Or lotion if lube isn't handy. That's it."
"Never porn?"
"Not in a long time," I say.
"Because you prefer the emotional connection to the homemade videos?"
That's one way to put it.
"I didn't have a good experience with porn," I say. "A friend introduced me to it too early. It was too much." Too aggressive, too obvious, too fake. It didn't make sense to my young brain. "I always associated it with that feeling."
"You've never tried to find something you like?" she asks.
"A few times." When I was in high school. Then college. Once I had my first set of homemade pictures, I didn't want to find the professional thing. "Why? Do you have a video to send me?"
Her cheeks flush. "Do I seem that obsessed?"
"Yes."
"I'm not. I just, uh, I've watched a fair amount. For studies. There's a really wide range. I like the stuff marketed as 'for women,' usually. It's a little more emotional, more subtle."
"There's something left for your imagination."
She nods. "There's mystery." She turns the corner and comes to the fake French bistro.
And there's Zack and Laurel waiting outside.
"It's your turn," she says.
"We'll pick up when they leave," I say.
She offers her hand.
I shake.
Then, I face the metaphorical music. I join my brother and sister at the front.
Chapter Eleven
Jackson
Zack and Laurel are wearing matching hot pink outfits. She’s in a short dress with a sash that says Maid of Dishonor, and he's wearing a pink button-up shirt and slacks.
His messy hair is cut short.
Her waves are pulled into a low bun, and her makeup is colorful shades of gold, silver, and red.
As always, she looks chic, and he looks like a movie star at a premiere.
As usual, they're wearing expressions that say I'm going to make your life so difficult and I'm going to love every minute.
"Hey." Laurel nods hello to me and waves wildly at Daphne. "I think your brother is occupied at the moment."
So Damon and Cassie aren't here. Are they skipping dinner for work or sex? No. I don't want to know.
Daphne's nose scrunches. "Does it not bother you to think of your sister occupied the same way?"
Laurel shakes her head. "Do I occasionally go 'ick' at the thought of my sister's sex life? Sure. But do I push through it to enjoy this"—she points to my face—"I mean, look at it. He's horrified. The very thought of your brother railing Cassie makes him want to throw up."
Daphne holds her nose.
Zack laughs.
Laurel laughs with him. "You too, huh? I'm surprised you're so traditional."