She lay on the bed for a few moments, trying to decide on the mise en scène. The responsibility here was immense. So windows cracked, rear door open, the incomparable tropical breeze. Thirty-second shower, gelid, enough for four efficient soap strokes. Pubic hair proofreading: two flicks of the razor reinforced the champagne glass phase she was currently going through. Makeup retouched, a smoky effect around the eyes, no time to do anything with her hair besides run her fingers through it. As to garment, she considered simple nudity, but that made the whole affair seem too much like a medical checkup, so she settled on her black mesh negligee. Perfume seemed like overkill—there was a certain messiness to the whole process that she didn’t want to hide from the young buck, and that included the various musks and countermusks. She took off her shoes: the shorter she was, the more confident he’d be.

Chiasa: You ever fuck a virgin?

Arthur: You weren’t a virgin?

Chiasa: So I lied.

Arthur: I always suspected. Saw that ‘Kilroy was here’ graffito on your asshole. Anyway, don’t fuck virgins. What if you need a sacrifice? Can I call you like in ten?

Chiasa: Twenty.

Case forgot to bring matches, so he was sent out again after they had their first kiss.  Which, though there was a static zap, was otherwise unremarkable. She poked his tongue with hers as if testing a carcass for life. ‘Twas dead or fjord-pining.

“If you’re this desperate, I could slam a little gash.” Zeus had a pair of glittering half-moon reading glasses on. He was busy with a Clancy novel.

“Gross. How is it you sound younger now than when I was eighteen? And weren’t you headed to Easter Island?”

“I got lost. There are no road signs in the ocean. There are no roads in the ocean. It is a serious issue and a complete pain in the ass. I’m texting my brother about it.”

“Yeah, speaking of getting lost, that’s kind of what I need you to do. Now.”

“Seriously? Anyway, your boyfriend’s right. I’ve fucked a lot of virgins—a literal myriad—and it’s not all it’s made out to be. Also, they get pregnant like that.”

There was a knock on the door that was somehow both shy and frantic. Chi glared at the god until he shrugged and tramped out the back door. He waved his hand around and it started to rain, then flipped her off before disappearing into the palm shadows.

Archly, she requested as toll a cigarette from the nervous young man in the hallway, then a light, and then quietly withdrew, leaving the door ajar. She sat with her legs crossed; he slipped in after a few moments, with a crouched sidling that indicated he was uncomfortably stimulated. She thought not for the first time that if people could look at the sexes with fresh eyes, they’d realize that much of the arousal procedure was of a nearly extraterrestrial bizarreness. Inflating appendages, engorgements, chameleonic color changes and Gallagher levels of stickiness.

“Don’t people smoke afterwards?” he asked, sitting on the bed.

“I’m a weird girl. Any other questions?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Come on, don’t be shy about it. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Do you usually finish?”

“I’m batting over .500, which I think’s pretty respectable. Next question.”

“How many times have you done it?” He took out a cigarette, flipped it back and forth a few times as if confused, then finally lit it.

“Dude, watch it.”

“Sorry. Um, how old were you when you first did it?” He started to cough.

“Eighteen.”

“Did you like it?” he asked, still coughing.

“Not particularly. But he did, so don’t worry.”

“Do… you… have a favorite position?”

She laughed. “Let’s master algebra before we tackle logarithms. But generally being on top allows more clitoral stimulation, which most women prefer if they’re trying to orgasm. How do I look?”

“You look amazing. Just gorgeous, and kind, and sexy, and I… really, you are so beautiful, I honestly—I’m not sure what the hell’s going on. Um, you look Asian, but I don’t want to guess a particular country, cause I’ll come off as racist.”

“Guess a particular country.”

“Um… China?”

“My parents are Japanese. Or, half Japanese.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. There’s nothing wrong with being Chinese. I’m actually minoring in Chinese literature.”

“Really? So you speak Mandarin?”

“I do speak Mandarin.”

“And Japanese?”

“I actually never learned Japanese.”

“Why not?”

“Because everyone wanted me to. So can I share a secret with you?”

“Um, sure.”

“You actually have a pretty exceptional cock. I don’t know if you’re aware, but that is well above the median there. I’m actually looking forward to taking a ride. You’ve got a significant ace in the hole when it comes to dating and everything else. There are men—lots of men—who would pay real money to have even seventy-five percent of that.”

He blushed but just sat there, clinging to his cigarette like it was a defensive weapon. Chi put out hers. It really was raining, and not gently. Like a jungle was being vigorously shaken. This was the moment Zeus walked back into the room, retrieved his Clancy from the coffee table, glared at both of them, then tramped back out.

“Did you like seeing me naked before?” she ventured.

“Very much.”

“Would you like to again?”

“Very much.”

“So, how about you turn around, and I turn around, and you take off your shirt, and your pants, and whatever’s under them, and I take off my negligee, which is the only thing on me, and then we turn back around? Can we do that?”

“Very much. I mean, yes.”

She watched him in the mirror as she lifted the negligee over her head. His tan lines cut him into Mondrian squares of color and whiteness. It was good raw material. Blond hair, too long but it worked, chiseled arms/legs, broad chest, obviously a gym rat who’d just keep getting hotter if he kept it up, and grew some more chest hair. The self-esteem, however …

“Ready?”

“I think so.”

They turned around. And for the first time, she really did feel quite small in comparison. She half-wished she’d left her heels on. His cock was even more impressive erect; it practically floated at a straight horizontal, pointing directly at her like a dowsing rod. His eyes, on the other hand, seemed focused on a point a few feet above her head.

“Casey,” she said, taking a few slow steps, “look how skinny my arms are. Look how short I am. You realize, if you wanted to, you could throw me to the bed and ravish me, and there’s not a thing I could do about it? You could have me any way you wanted, as long as you wanted, and I could try to resist as hard as I could, and it wouldn’t be any use.”

She watched his cock bob a bit at some blood flow variance.

“I’d never do that.”

“I know,” she said, and laughed, almost cruelly. “You’re far too sweet. But the point is, you are terrified right now, and I literally have no power in this situation. None! Did you ever think how bizarre that is?”

Had she?

He gulped. She stood akimbo, hipshot, looked him up and down. “So that rather impressive instrument is ready to go. I’ve got an idea.”

He lifted his eyebrows, desperate for any proposals on how to move this forward. His right hand was making and unmaking a fist.

“Fuck it,” she said, “Let’s just do it.”

She scrabbled up him like a rabid squirrel, circled his trunk, locked her lips on his, then rocked him back and forth a few times until they both toppled onto the bed. Poised on the edge, struggling with each other though evidently stable…  but then the counterpane gave way and they hit the carpet with a muffled thud. Their teeth clinked. She tasted blood, never learned whose. Giggling, she reached wildly between her legs, feeling his thighs, the delightful abdominal cordillera, and then finally the promised land: the obelisk of his cock pointing heavenward, throbbing with blood and heat and something nineteen years in the making.

“Like I said, very impressive. So, the preliminaries: you’re ready to go, but I’m not.” She spat in her hand and he actually made a momentary disgusted face, but he had no complaints as they both watched her hand simonize him. She applied two more coats for safety’s sake, kissed him, whispered in his ear, “Do not fucking cum,” and then lowered her ass like a coffee-colored dirigible gracefully approaching the dock, with her hand holding her open with a sort of live long and prosper gesture. She was dry, but by means of copious precum and a few false starts and temporary retreats, their pelvises came into contact. She stretched her head back and groaned, evaluating the alien skyscraper inside her. He lay there, unblinking, chuffing audibly. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he had two huge handfuls of her ass and no apparent intention of relinquishing them.

“Mighty Casey,” she said. “It’s not a bad name. Original. Is it actually after that poem?”

“No,” he said, breathing quickly. “Grateful Dead song.”

“Which song’s that? Sing it.”

He glared. She gave him a coquettish smile that pretty much said, “You’re going to do whatever I want, so let’s not kid ourselves,” and took her ass up to the second floor on his cock, paused, but wait, forgot something down at the lobby, down again, got it!, then back up.

“Um, can I?” he asked. “Don’t we have to pay royalties or something? I’m not sure how copyright law works with Lush stories. Also, is something buzzing?”

Chi did a quick mental review of her erotic implements, then realized there was a simpler explanation. “It’s my phone. Don’t move. Don’t cum.” She couldn’t reach it, but he was sweet and could and did.

“Babe! What the fuck was that about fucking virgins? I can’t think of anything else now.” Art was loud and profane, but not loud and profane enough to indicate he’d been drinking. Which was a shame: she liked drunker louder profaner Art.

“I’m actually fucking a virgin right now.” And with a slow rocking of her hips, she became a method actress. She pressed a finger to Casey’s lips, put the phone on speaker, gently reclined into a backbend asana, which her current violator courteously stabilized by holding onto her haunches. As if for dear life.

“Really?” Art asked. “Is he bigger than me?”

“I don’t have my tape measure, but yes. Much. He’s checking the oil now.”

“Oh man, right in my self-esteem. I guess I’ll have to make more money to compensate.”

Casey, cheeky little bastard, started to move her up and down of his own accord, and his own thighs matched the rhythm. The bloodhound had caught a scent.

“How was work?” she said.

“Work is fucking hell. Never get a real job. Go to medical school instead.”

“Yes, very low-tension work environment, the hospital. Listen, babe, it’s kind of late.”

“Say no more, you miserable cunt. I didn’t really want to talk to you anyway. Don’t let him stretch you out too much. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She stopped moving, and squatted there, pinned like a dead moth. “So there you go, busted your hymen. How’s it feel?”

“That was your boyfriend?”

“Or someone with his phone. I know, we’re crass. But tell me—first off you’re not about to cum are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ok. I like cum and everything, adore it actually, but I don’t want your first time to be a bad example. How do I feel?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

“I mean great. I mean amazing, like fucking amazing, like I could fucking do this everyday for the rest of my life. Like I honestly didn’t expect it to be like this at all and I just can’t think of anything else I could ever dream of wanting to do.” It was a touching little speech that he delivered in one breath, which left him panting.

“That’s better. It’s just a pussy though.” She brought her big brown eyes close to his and turned them full on, a flirtatious gesture but she could not have been more serious. “Don’t fall in love with a pussy. I can’t vouch for it, obviously, but I imagine most feel about the same. Fall in love with a person.”

She gently unimpaled herself, then pulled him to his feet.

“Should I go?” he said. There was some new metal in his voice. Something, just a sliver of it, that lay icily there; something vaguely dangerous, like a wolf that had had its kill stolen. It was what she’d been waiting for.

She shook her head no, as she reclined on the bed. She was probably at her most beautiful there, crabwalking backward on her elbows, starlight limning her shifting profile, all anatomical secrets told in detail without the slightest hint of modesty, or any the worse for the lack of it. She called him over and gave a rather charming introduction to her genitals, in which he seemed generally intrigued. With the undersides of her thighs the stage wings, she laid her hand over his and moved it along the perimeter of her labia, taught him the intricacies of clitoral behavior, helped him tease open her vagina. And, being pretty confident in her hygiene, she even inched up on her buttocks to display the featureless mystery of her anus, though that was strictly speaking getting into next semester’s lesson, and she’d leave that to someone else. The TA, maybe.

He kissed her without warning, and it was the first adult kiss, the first one that wasn’t asking permission, and, read whatever you like into it, the first one she enjoyed. His tongue was furtive and showed its first signs of improvisation, rudimentary gambits. Earthy taste, savory and fungal. Their fingers penetrated her together, and she eventually abandoned his to their task, moving her own up to massage her button. She inquired as to how wet she was.

“Seems really wet.”

“You want to slide your giant cock into me again?”                  

“Oh God, yes. Are you even real?” His eyes were getting fiery now. He had come in caring about nobility, relationships, and his own reputation, and now he was thinking of only one thing. The genes, you know, they give you a lot of leeway. They’ll let you go to the movies, they’ll let you take up knitting, they’ll let you write a peer-reviewed article on Bayesian statistics. But there will come a time they pull the reins tight.

“Make me nice and wet for you. Make my tight cunt nice and slippery for you. Not too fast, curled, a sort of come hither motion.”

Of course, the genes had her, too. Could she stop right now? If she wanted, if she had some change of heart, if she thought it was morally required, could she snap her legs shut and open a book?

Possibly. Probably not. Maybe that’s a skill you learn with age, but it had certainly not been mastered here, where two soft-fleshed waldos were carrying out commands as old as dirt, however gracefully.

She didn’t realize she’d started moaning, and she found, pleasantly, that she couldn’t easily stop. She ran her fingernails up her abdomen, tickled her areolae, pinched and twisted her nipples in stereo. Touching herself and not him seemed generally prudent, since, for one, she enjoyed it, and, for two, if she touched his cock, that would probably be the moon shot.

“So,” she said, “it’s possible I’m going to do something and I want you to be prepared. I might make a series of really high-pitched sounds. Like ‘yip, yip, yip.’ You’re going to think I’m doing it on purpose—everybody does, but it’s completely involuntary.”

“Uh… ok.”

“Some people seem to like it.” She reclined and listened to the waves going through her body. This guy would fingerfuck her for the next twenty-four hours if she let him, and while there were worse ways to spend a Thursday, she was considering doing some fishing tomorrow and needed her sleep. So she helped him slip on the condom, which he’d confessed he’d never done: to his credit, his erection went down not a single degree during the procedure.

She was up on her knees facing him, her hands cradling his cock from below. “I know you don’t have anything, sweetie; this is mainly so you last more than a minute.”

He nodded and watched her in awe as she turned over and assumed lordosis, her taking a moment to get him safely docked before laying her head on the pillow. He seemed too stunned to start, so she began a soft ebbing motion with her hanzi-tattooed rump.

“Can you hold my hips?”

“Like this?”

“Lower. Thumbs at the tramp stamp.”

“Here?”

“Tighter. There, perfect. Don’t let me go. How do I feel?”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’ll take that as ‘not bad.’ You can fuck me, darling. You can fuck me as long and as hard as you want.”

This seemed to provide the necessary inspiration. His tentative and polite thrusts gave way to something rougher. Slapping became audible. Sweat prickled and then poured down her back and forehead. The size was a treat, but it was painful too, and tears started to glisten in her eyes. But she honestly thought the least she could do for the boy was take it (and of course she enjoyed the challenge). Eventually, her body took the hint and opened around him, and the pain and the pleasure and that little bit of regret deep in the back of her mind that came from being unfaithful to Art, all that got swallowed in the maw, and she began demanding more, which he gave with interest.

“Pull my hair.”

“What?”

“Take your goddamn hand, take hold of a goddamn ponytail, and pull my fucking hair!”

She reared up like a spooked horse as he yanked her back, exposing her neck. They remained motionless. She felt her heart throbbing, she felt his pulse in his cock, she felt the syncopation between the two. After a moment she fell flat and panted.

She rolled over in their sweat puddle and looked up. “Did you?”

“Um, no, not yet, I don’t think.”

She laughed. “You’ll know when. Ok. Look, I want you to promise me that in the future when you sleep with many more strange girls, you’ll be careful, and use protection.”

“Yeah, ok. I mean, of course.”

“Good. But I get checked pretty regularly. And, you know what, it’s your first time, so… come here.”

She pulled the rubber off and flung it at the wall.

The rest they did without words. She summoned him with her eyes, and he obeyed, sliding in quite easily now, even without any guidance. She clasped her legs vice-like behind him, merciless, like a spider enveloping prey. Their eyes met and held, interrupted by the best kiss of the night, still spiked with a little blood, then their eyes met again and neither looked away during the rest of the routine. His eyes were a pale blue, and she fancied she could see his future and past in them, and maybe her own.

He did respectably, imprisoned as he was by her legs. He paused only once as if startled by his own power. She nodded for him to go on, and after that he was uncontrollable, each thrust becoming more desperate and powerful and even sadistic, with her eyes steely and challenging, until she felt a truly mighty twitch go through his cock, then a series of fluttering pulses. He collapsed onto her breasts, beaten.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

Chi nodded and stroked his hair, rolling her own head back to look at the ceiling. They lay there with the rain washing the world outside until their bodies regained some semblance of normalcy.

“So, that’s sex,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not the be-all end-all, but it’s a good way to kill a half-hour.”

“It was wonderful.”

“You remember the rules.”

“Yes,” he said, muffled by her left breast. “I kept thinking about them when I was buying the cigarettes. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t text. No sleepover.”

“That’s right. So you have to go. Because otherwise you’ll get attached, and I’ll get attached, and then it’s just a mess.”

He obeyed. While he was pulling his shorts back on, still shell-shocked, he said, “I didn’t hear that sound thing you were talking about.”

“It doesn’t always happen.”

She lay there doing French inhales. There was a lingering urge to cover herself, but she hated that urge since she could think of no good reason to be ashamed of any part of her body, so she stayed exposed. Her sex remained notably darker than the rest of her, like a ripe plum.

“Oh. I can’t believe your boyfriend talks to you that way.”

“Yeah, he’s a dick. But I’m a bitch, so it works out.”

“You’re not, though. You’re lovely.”

“Casey, let’s not pretend we know each other at all.”

“Ok.” He looked past her into the drizzling night. “Do women like being spoken to that way?”

“Everybody’s different. But so far as there’s a secret you’re looking for when you’re going hunting for trim, Art tells me he has his best luck when he acts like he’s too dumb to remember all the things he’s insecure about. I wish he were here: he could teach you a lot. Course he’d kick your ass first.”

“‘Trim?’ And I thought you said he’d go after you, not me, if we… if we did what we just did?”

“I lied. See? I really am a bitch. Don’t worry, he’s an ocean and continent away and he’s not coming any closer. Plus he’s a foot shorter than you. But he fights dirty. Part Irish. Gross red hair. Ugh.”

“Doesn’t he already know? When he called, you said that you were… that we were… you know.”

She laughed, but not maliciously. “No, no, that’s just how we joke. Anyway, you should get going. Have yourself a wonderful life, Casey. And remember, if your friends ask…”

“I struck out.”

“Mighty Casey struck out, right. Just say I started crying about my boyfriend and you listened to me blab about feelings. Or whatever.”

“Chi, I’ll never forget this.”

She nodded because he was right, and they looked at each other for a long time. There was a mood in the room she couldn’t identify. A wake for virginity lost, maybe. Something, somewhere, was obviously in pain, but who or what she couldn’t guess.

It could’ve been him. He seemed sad, or at least pensive, and his entire face was contorting as if thinking very hard about what he wanted to say, as if trying to solve a mystery that should be easy, but just wasn’t. But in the end, he exited without a word, carrying his box of condoms. The door locked conclusively behind him.

She considered cleaning up, but, despite the lack of orgasm, she still felt quite relaxed and unwilling to move. Eventually, her blood cooled and she got chilly, so she burrowed under the covers and listened to the rain. Semen seeped out of her, still warm to the touch, and sure, there’s something repulsive and downright icky about the whole thing, but that’s a matter of framing: her little store of cum was also a memento of a connection with another human being, and the remnant of a pleasure with few competitors. And that’s just on this level: microscopically, there was a thrilling chase sequence going on inside of her right now. One that would be fruitless, but breakneck and death-defying nonetheless. And of course, he had sort of claimed her with it, which meant he thought she was pretty, and, proper emotion or not, that was still hella tight.

“Do you want me to change the weather?” Zeus said, slipping under the cover beside her. He was dank with precipitation, wonderfully warm; his skin exuded a bucolic aroma.

“No,” she said, laying her head against his chest. “No, it’s quite lovely as is. Thank you.”

“My handiwork. I don’t suppose you want to go over the psychological motivations for and ramifications of your series of decisions today?

“Not necessary.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s all pretty obvious anyway. That kid had an impressive unit. Probably one of my many lost bastards. Time to do some Facebook stalking, see if I can find a picture of his moms. You checking out?”

“Mhmm. Sleepy.”

“Yeah, you’ve had a big day, princess. Virgins, boyfriends, that redheaded number, The Leering Dutchman.” His rocky fingers were absently petting her pubic hair. “Though here’s a counterproposal: I finish you off and then we order room service. What say you?”

She rolled over. He had a faunish grin. She smiled back.

“Ok,” she said, opening her legs. A fairy ring of tiki torches grew up around the bed.

He nuzzled her neck, then gnawed on her earlobe. “Gonna make you yip.”

Promise made, promise kept.