Oral Sex


Vilma delivered her speech to him the first time they lay together in their underwear, after she'd given him his first blowjob. Maybe it didn't count as a blowjob - he hadn't cum. That was the Celexa's fault, though. Some depression medication did that to boys.

It was Vilma's first blowjob, too; she hadn't seen a boy's dick since her little brother was young enough to need his diapers changed.

"You should know," she said quietly, "that all my heroes are dead. Everyone I love goes away. That's the way of the world, isn't it? It's cliché but it's true. So if you're going to love me, that's okay. With time, I might even love you back. But it'll end badly."

John traced his hand along the side of her neck, then down her shoulder and around to cup her breast. "You sound like you're delivering a script from a bad movie."

Vilma thought that maybe that comment should sting, but it didn't. She'd rehearsed what she was going to say in her head too many times for it to come out as anything but stupid and melodramatic.

"It's true," she pressed. "I can already feel you falling in love with me, and I don't want you to do that. I don't even know if I like boys sexually. I don't even think I'm over my ex-girlfriend yet, and it's been over two years. I'm emotionally retarded and here you're falling in love with me and I'm giving you head and we haven't even known each other for two weeks."

John shrugged, and Vilma felt it because her back was pressed against his chest. "Let's just take this relationship one step at a time," John murmured.

"But I don't want to hurt you. I like you, and I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to fuck you over."

"You're not going to fuck me over."

Vilma curled out of his arms enough to sit up on the narrow dorm bed and face him. "Yes I am. It's inevitable. People always fuck each over, and I think you're going to be the fuckee here."


"Because you're already falling in love with me."

The words unspoken hung thickly in the air between them.

"Let's just take this relationship one step at a time," John repeated. "If you hurt me, you hurt me. If I hurt you, I hurt you. That's what life is."

"I know."

He half-smiled up at her, as though they'd known each other for centuries. "I know you know."

Then Vilma laid down and moved against him again, because her skin was cold without his skin, because she would have been cold even if the air conditioner weren't attacking them both. John slid one hand underneath her and one hand over her waist and rested his head on her shoulder so that his breath was in her ear and his face was in her spiky hair.

Vilma took a deep breath, and then there were tears sliding down her cheeks, and she didn't know why. Maybe one of her tears hit John's arm, because suddenly he hugged her tighter and asked her if she were okay.

"I don't know."

"Hey," John whispered. "Hey." He sat up a little bit, and she snuggled against him like she was dying and he was made of oxygen, but her tears were silent and slow. Vilma thought of the times that she'd cried against her ex-girlfriend, and hated absolutely the small wind of longing that blew through her.

"Hey," John whispered again, and she curled into his arms and leaned against him. She wondered, between the two of them, how many pills they took every night before they went to bed. Allergy medications and multivitamins, cranberry supplements and things to gift you with dreamless sleep, acne capsules and Celexa, Effexor, Fluoxetine. Enough anti- depressants that John couldn't even cum, and she still cried for no reason. They slept curled together and hidden beneath a flurry of think blankets, not even waking up when Vilma's roommate stumbled in drunk and turned all the lights on.


October, 2004