Read Online Confessions of a Not It Girl by Melissa Kantor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa Kantor
Ads: Link
at Lawrence who lacked this skill? Had there been an assembly on it one day when I was absent?
"I'll show you wow,'" he said, putting his arm around my shoulders again.
And then Tom kissed me.
Or for accuracy's sake I should say, attempted to kiss me. Mostly he just started drooling onto my face and pushing me, as if I were his opponent in a wrestling match. I managed to partially resist his attempt to maneuver me onto Drew's bed, which resulted in our being half on the bed and half on the floor. At this point, Tom must have decided that this was as close as we were going to get to lying down because he stopped trying to get on top of me and started grabbing at my chest while licking my eyelid.
Ever since elementary school, I have been waiting to experience a good kiss, and all I can say is: I'm still waiting. In junior high I went to parties and played Spin the Bottle and Three Minutes in Heaven and Six Minutes in the Closet, and as far as I'm concerned, if some guy thrusting
70
his slimy tongue in my mouth is heaven, send me to hell. I assumed things would get better in high school, but except for the bottle and the closet, it was just more of the same. Tom Richmond grabbing at my boobs like he was a passenger on the Titanic and I was the last remaining lifeboat gave me the feeling that senior year wasn't going to bring a big improvement on the status quo.
It was completely depressing because I had very high hopes. When I was eleven we rented a house on Fire Island for the summer, and the people who owned the place had left all these really cheesy romance novels behind, so I spent July and August reading books with titles like The Promised Passion and The Lingering Longing. They're basically how I got my idea of what sex was going to be like--you know, women being carried away by some guy touching their heaving bosoms. Even if my heart belonged to Josh, when Tom had leaned in to kiss me, I assumed I would have to struggle to resist the tingling limpness running through my limbs.
But it wasn't much of a struggle resisting the slippery strand of saliva running down my cheek.
The combination of drooling onto me and grabbing at my mom's cashmere sweater was clearly becoming too much for Tom, and he started breathing pretty fast. I, on the other hand, was barely breathing at all since the last thing I wanted was some errant strand of saliva to run up my nose and drown me.
The time had come to draw the line. Tom pushed my turtleneck aside and started half sucking, half nibbling on
71
my neck while making a noise that sounded like, "Mooo." The door opened for a second and then someone shut it quickly, saying, "Oh, sorry." I decided this was my cue.
"Listen, Tom, I should probably go. It's getting late." Actually, I had no idea what time it was.
"You don't have to go," said Tom, licking my chin.
I resisted the urge to wipe my face. "Yeah, actually, my parents are really strict,'''' I said.
"What time do you have to be home?"
"Um, what time is it now?"
Tom managed to check his watch while barely taking his lips off mine. "Eleven-thirty."
"Oh my God," I said, as if he'd just told me it was two A.M. Tom, unimpressed by my manufactured hysterics, jammed his fingers at my chest. Was this supposed to turn me on? Was this what caused bosoms to heave all over the world?
There actually was a part of me that wanted to heave, but it wasn't my bosom.
"Just stay a few more minutes," he said, pushing me back against the bed.
"No, really. I need to go. My parents will kill me if I'm late." It was as if in the few minutes we'd been making out, Tom had grown a dozen additional arms. Every time I managed to peel one of his hands off me, another one materialized on a different part of my body.
"What's their problem?" he panted. Or I think he did. It was hard to hear what he was saying since his tongue was licking my eardrum.
72
"Oh, they're tough." I mentally substituted Tony and Carmella Soprano for my art-history-professor
"I'll show you wow,'" he said, putting his arm around my shoulders again.
And then Tom kissed me.
Or for accuracy's sake I should say, attempted to kiss me. Mostly he just started drooling onto my face and pushing me, as if I were his opponent in a wrestling match. I managed to partially resist his attempt to maneuver me onto Drew's bed, which resulted in our being half on the bed and half on the floor. At this point, Tom must have decided that this was as close as we were going to get to lying down because he stopped trying to get on top of me and started grabbing at my chest while licking my eyelid.
Ever since elementary school, I have been waiting to experience a good kiss, and all I can say is: I'm still waiting. In junior high I went to parties and played Spin the Bottle and Three Minutes in Heaven and Six Minutes in the Closet, and as far as I'm concerned, if some guy thrusting
70
his slimy tongue in my mouth is heaven, send me to hell. I assumed things would get better in high school, but except for the bottle and the closet, it was just more of the same. Tom Richmond grabbing at my boobs like he was a passenger on the Titanic and I was the last remaining lifeboat gave me the feeling that senior year wasn't going to bring a big improvement on the status quo.
It was completely depressing because I had very high hopes. When I was eleven we rented a house on Fire Island for the summer, and the people who owned the place had left all these really cheesy romance novels behind, so I spent July and August reading books with titles like The Promised Passion and The Lingering Longing. They're basically how I got my idea of what sex was going to be like--you know, women being carried away by some guy touching their heaving bosoms. Even if my heart belonged to Josh, when Tom had leaned in to kiss me, I assumed I would have to struggle to resist the tingling limpness running through my limbs.
But it wasn't much of a struggle resisting the slippery strand of saliva running down my cheek.
The combination of drooling onto me and grabbing at my mom's cashmere sweater was clearly becoming too much for Tom, and he started breathing pretty fast. I, on the other hand, was barely breathing at all since the last thing I wanted was some errant strand of saliva to run up my nose and drown me.
The time had come to draw the line. Tom pushed my turtleneck aside and started half sucking, half nibbling on
71
my neck while making a noise that sounded like, "Mooo." The door opened for a second and then someone shut it quickly, saying, "Oh, sorry." I decided this was my cue.
"Listen, Tom, I should probably go. It's getting late." Actually, I had no idea what time it was.
"You don't have to go," said Tom, licking my chin.
I resisted the urge to wipe my face. "Yeah, actually, my parents are really strict,'''' I said.
"What time do you have to be home?"
"Um, what time is it now?"
Tom managed to check his watch while barely taking his lips off mine. "Eleven-thirty."
"Oh my God," I said, as if he'd just told me it was two A.M. Tom, unimpressed by my manufactured hysterics, jammed his fingers at my chest. Was this supposed to turn me on? Was this what caused bosoms to heave all over the world?
There actually was a part of me that wanted to heave, but it wasn't my bosom.
"Just stay a few more minutes," he said, pushing me back against the bed.
"No, really. I need to go. My parents will kill me if I'm late." It was as if in the few minutes we'd been making out, Tom had grown a dozen additional arms. Every time I managed to peel one of his hands off me, another one materialized on a different part of my body.
"What's their problem?" he panted. Or I think he did. It was hard to hear what he was saying since his tongue was licking my eardrum.
72
"Oh, they're tough." I mentally substituted Tony and Carmella Soprano for my art-history-professor
Similar Books
