Janis

Let me tell you about Janis. But first, let me tell you quickly about legs.
I’ve already mentioned my thing for thighs. I’ve also always had a thing for legs. When I was twelve years old, not long before losing my V-card (finally), I remember flipping through my Dad’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. He wasn’t around at the time to beat me for looking through his shit. He was in prison. So the magazine was all mine.
The model who stuck out to me the most was this one woman with curly long hair somewhere in that uncertain region between blonde and brown, wearing a multicolored ethnic-Islander tinged swimsuit and sitting on the sand as the surf came in, her expression jaded. All their expressions were jaded. My de-facto facial expression was jaded, too, and this worried my teachers. It made me feel pretty mature when I looked at these much-older models, though.
The best part about this model was her smooth, tanned legs. They were thick but not too thick and there wasn’t a vein to be seen. A crease was visible in her skin at the point where leg, thigh and waist all met. The Three Corners. One of her hands dangled in between her legs.
I could tell from looking at that picture, even at the age of twelve, exactly what information was being conveyed. It was that the best way to make a woman yours was with your tongue. If her thighs were around your head and her hand was set between her legs, touching your head, then she was yours.
So six years later, here I was, at a house party during my first weekend at school. I watched the partygoers exiting the party.
I sat on a bench with Jason. Jason and I had made friends after both of us were caught by campus police biking around completely blitzed. We sat side by side in the campus police office waiting for the lazy jelly rolls to call us in and dole out our punishment, letting our highs wear off. Jason had a tattoo running all the way down one arm. He was jacked; I was this lanky fucker who had kicked the shit out of a couple bigger guys in juve, but would never mess with someone who looked like Jason.
He’d eventually turned to me, extended a hand and said, “Jason.”
I said, “Dennis.” We shook hands.
A cop walked past us, ignoring us, not ignoring his latte.
“These cops are pussies,” said Jason.
The cop stopped, wheeled around, looked at Jason and moved on.
So yeah, I liked Jason immediately.
     We sat on the bench and drank a PBR each and Jason wore his baseball cap backwards. My hair was bleached and I’d put my earring back in. I knew the backwards baseball cap thing didn’t work on any girls older than fourteen, but I wasn’t about to break that news to Jason. I think he was Asexual.
     And all the girls at this party were eighteen, nineteen. Nobody was twenty-one. It was one of those parties and I was glad I’d chosen one of those schools. My dick stirred a little whenever I saw a girl walk past in cutoff jeans with patterned black leggings, or if a stray bra strap glistened in the lights on the porches or the headlights of illegally-driven cars. But nothing that made me really want to go for any of them.
     Jason burped.
     “I’m gonna flunk that test tomorrow,” he said.
     I didn’t know what he was talking about or care.
     “I’m gonna keep drinking tomorrow,” I said.
     That was when she walked out the screen door.
     She had red hair falling down to her shoulders, freckles that you could have spotted a mile away underwater at night, green eyes, lip gloss slightly smeared on her lips that were smiling at some joke inside the door. She wore a white buttoned-up school shirt worn at Catholic schools. I know this because she also wore a green plaid skirt. Her legs were bare and as she walked she exposed the ideal legs; thick white thighs curving down in to a smooth leg that arched inward still further in to gaunt lower legs.
     She walked with two female friends. They both stumbled and Janis somehow helped them both stay steady while laughing at them. She was tipsy but not drunk. I guessed her as Irish by ancestry and pegged her alcohol tolerance as too tolerant. Like mine. I wanted her legs wrapped around me. If they weren’t wrapped around me by the end of that night, I’d have to flip out and masturbate all over the Dean of Student’s desk.
     I stood up.
     “Mrs. O’ Brien!” I called. She kept walking. “Woman with the Irish-ness everywhere!”
     She paused. She turned. Her friends turned. Half of her face said that she was relieved to be referred to as a woman, finally. The other half of her face said that she wasn’t sure if she deserved it. This was perfect. The mentality was ideal.
     “That’s not her name…” one of her drunk friends said.
     I was approaching her and ignoring the friend.
     “Yeah that’s not my…name,” she said.
     I got close to her.
     I looked in to her eyes. She didn’t move back, she just did something with her head where her eyes were angled slightly down and her chin couched halfway down to her collarbone. Her eyes were even greener.
     “What is your name then?” I asked.
     “Janis…” she said.
     I shook her hand.
     “Batman,” I said.
     Janis’ friends mumbled something about me being a loser and one of them tugged at Janis’ shirt. Janis giggled at my pop culture savvy, overpowering them.
     “Um, okay,” she said.
     “Do you prefer martinis or sex on the beach?” I asked.
     She didn’t answer at first.
     “Uh, what is that, a drink?”
     I took a half step closer.
     “A position,” I said. “A position in which one can drink. Amongst other things.”
     She was mystified but intrigued. Her friends had backed off and were halted, waiting for her, but they seemed almost a mile away.
     “Alcohol pong,” I said. “Not beer pong. Alcohol pong. We’re playing it. Now.”
     I began to walk away. This had not been an actual plan. Not until now. But it would happen.
     
     The game of alcohol pong involved myself, Janis, Jason, and even one of Janis’ uptight friends, loosened up by the vodka and the feeling in the air, which I couldn’t feel myself, making me the loosest of them all. We played on a makeshift table set up outside in the nearly abandoned parking lot of Janis and her friend’s dorm. The friend and Jason ended up going off somewhere hand in hand; great for Jason. Janis kept trying to perfect her throw and get the ping pong ball in to a cup and kept failing. I repositioned her hand. She tossed. She made it. She made a gasp of joy. I wondered if she made the same gasp whenever she had an orgasm.
     She turned to me mid-gasp and I kissed her.

     Minutes later, we made out against the brick wall of her dorm building, the breeze blowing. I kept moving a hand down in to Janis’ skirt and she kept pulling it away. This did not mean that she didn’t want me to stick my hand down her skirt, exactly. It meant that she thought she shouldn’t want me to.
     I said this to her:
     “You think you shouldn’t want me to.” I kissed her. “But you want me to.”
     Janis squinted for a moment. But she got it. She looked down.
     “I um…I want to see you again. That’s all.”
     I pulled away from her somewhat, my hands resting on her shoulders, one finger on each hand resting on the ridge of her bra strap. Her eyeliner made a shadow on her face. She looked in to my eyes.
     “Me too,” I said. “I’ve never felt the same way kissing another girl.”
     I brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek.
     I repeated, “I really haven’t.”
     Janis thought about how to phrase her next question.
     “Are you…dangerous?” she said.
     I looked at her strangely. She looked away. She giggled. I laughed. We both started laughing loudly.
     “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, that was awkward.”
     She leaned in and kissed me and stuck her tongue in to my mouth and I pressed my tongue against hers.
     
     That night I went home with her number. I would come back to it. I looked up the local escort service I’d found online. I checked the balance on the credit card my Dad had given me months before. There was plenty. I called the service. I arranged to meet a girl downtown at the Meredith Inn. My drunk was wearing off so I smoked the rest of my pot and walked downtown in the dark. I met this woman who called herself Jolene and who was probably about thirty years old an hour later and whose face already sagged but her makeup made her look all right. She rode me on the low, skeevy bed in room 103 and I ground my pelvis against her as the sun came up.

     On Sunday afternoon, I met Janis in the student lounge. I got a little hard when I saw how dressed up she was. She wore black leggings and a gray silk skirt. She wore a blue blouse that exposed her bare arms and her cleavage. Her face shown with makeup. She wanted me that badly. We got coffee and sandwiches and shot the shit. She talked about her disagreements with her mom about where she should go to college. Her parents were divorced (no shit). I told her my parents had never really been married. She asked what I meant and I sort of declined to elaborate. I told her I lived mostly with my grandmother and left out the part about four months in juve, and all the parts about the boy’s homes and the psych ward in the years before. She crossed her legs at one point and I saw her skin push out from under her skirt. I told her a joke and she laughed.
     I walked her back to her dorm room after. The sun was still out and she mentioned that her roommate, who was a bitch (her words) was away, trying to sound off-handed.
     “So I guess that means you want me to come to your room,” I said. It sounded off-handed.
     Janis stopped.
     “You’re really direct, aren’t you?” She said.
     I kissed her. She said nothing but she smiled. She took my hand in her’s. We walked the rest of the way.
     
     I lay on top of her on her bunk bed, the top bed, massaging her tits under her blouse while we devoured each other. I moved one hand in circles around her belly and gradually circled under the waistline of her panties and she didn’t try and stop me this time. My hand fanned out and two fingers kneeded her smooth inner thigh while my pinky and forefinger rubbed across her prickly mound and found their way inside her. She was already at about a quarter gallon-this was what I called a partially wet vagina. I rubbed her clit with my pinky and worked her vulva with my forefinger. I stopped kissing her and listened to her high, panting exhales and felt her bloom wet over my finger. I slipped another finger in.
     I pushed her shirt above her tits and she hurried it over her head. She wore a black bra, which didn’t surprise me. I reached under her back and she arched up for me, which allowed me to unhook her bra with one hand while also grinding her vagina closer against my fingers. She removed her bra and the first thing I noticed were the intense tan lines that streaked her tits. The second thing I noticed were her erect nipples, which I proceeded to flick my tongue against. She shuttered and her hand seized against my head as I licked the first one. She shuddered harder and slid her hand down to my nape as I sucked her other nipple.
     “Dennis,” she whispered. “Go down on me.”
     I turned my head upside down and looked down her stomach in between her legs. I removed my fingers from the gooey traps of her folds. She was already open and ready for me and she looked more trimmed than any other girl I’d eaten. I pressed my forehead against her stomach and slid my face down to her crotch. She tugged my shirt off as I did so. I planted my hands against her abdomen and licked up her slit once, then again. She was pink. Some girls are red, some are purple, some are pink. I wondered if I could turn her red. I licked side to side and kept my head stationary. Girls don’t want to feel your head moving around; they want to feel your tongue inside them. I flicked side to side fast as lightning and sucked with her lips with my whole mouth.
     Janis started making noises that she must have learned in church. They were high-pitched, fluttering prays. It was as if she thought that Jesus himself was magically eating her pussy. In a way she wasn’t far off; I was her personal Jesus. My arms were flexing as I massaged her tits and she saw that and it was sexy. My tongue was quick and not very predictable and she realized that and it was sexy. I was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.
     I kept at her vulva with my tongue and decided to make her feel the kind of way you feel when something feels generally strong but you don’t know where it’s coming from. I pressed a finger against her clit, just above my mouth. I kept pressing down, slowly. Her body tensed up. She inhaled loudly and exhaled louder. Janis groped at my hair with her hand. I felt her vagina expand as my tongue flicked faster and I moved my mouth in circles. Her wetness caved against my taste buds and made smacking, drooling sounds. Yes, her pussy made these sounds. Her mouth went, Uuuuuhhhh! Aaaahhhh! Aaaaahhhh! Jesus! Uuuuuuhhhhh! She really said Jesus. My theory was confirmed.
     My phone buzzed under my leg. I pulled away from the vaginal wilderness and a string of white vag goo yanked away with me and dangled between her pussy lips and her sheets before breaking and falling half against my chin and half against the rest of her loose juices. From whence it came. It looked funny. With my free hand, my fingers now dried crusty white, I checked my phone. A text from my senior friend Kip asking if I was still coming to the Harding Tavern this evening. Shit. I was supposed to be meeting Kip at the bar where he worked and got me in to on a regular basis even though his colleagues all knew I was underage and still let me get loaded again and again. I spread Janis’ legs apart and propped one hand on her inner thigh. Of course she let me. I punched in, Can’t. I paused, thought, glanced at the sleek reddening masterpiece just below me, wanting me back, and punched in, I’m eating pussy. I pressed send and dropped the phone on her sheets.
     Janis stared at me, her cheeks red, a confused expression of disappointment and wonder in her eyes.
     “Dennis,” she said. “What are you doing?”
     I placed my hands on both her knees and stared in to her eyes and slowly moved my fingers down her legs.
     “Stay with me,” she said, reaching out to me. Before she could quite touch me, I had leaned in and kissed her. I kissed her long enough until she sucked her juices off my face and both my hands met at her cunt and I gently swirled both my index fingers around inside her. I jerked away from her mouth.
     I watched her respond to my index fingers circling around.
     This is when I took it up a notch.
     I dove back in to her vagina. I moved my mouth up and down her lips like a street sweeper and kept my hands stretched out between her tits. Janis responded by making a series of surprised gasps that turned back in to her pleasure gasps after less than a few seconds. They did not sound like her ping pong gasps. They were louder; they came from her lungs.

She smelled of sweat and warm stickiness and my nose dipped in to her vag and out and I snorted her fluids back into her. I wanted as much of her as I could get. I wanted her whole body under my control. Janis touched the top of my head and groped it and let her hand retreat and I knew she wanted the same. I pressed one of my hands against her inner thigh and pushed, her leg jerking upwards, allowing me movement across her entire mound and allowing room for my other hand to slide out of her lower vulva on to to her cheek.

I moved it from her cheek to her mouth, wide open with vocalizations and she took my fingers in her mouth and sucked and sucked and ceased her noise for some moments. I watched her diaphragm move in when I licked the upper edge of her pussy and watched her brown pubic prickles rush by beside gleaming inner cunt when I worked back down. I kept pushing on her leg and let her push back. With each push-back she did her hand aimlessly groped over my hair. If she wanted to feel like this was a team effort, she could feel that way. But the truth was it was all me.

(Her gropes were spastic and aimless.
Her moans were louder and squeakier.
Her thigh was in my grip.
Her juices were in my mouth.
My neck was stiff.
It was all me.)

I let loose every iteration of tongue movement and moved my hand off her leg and slipped one single finger in to her folds below me and, as I rubbed, felt that they were no longer folds but walls of excitement. Retracting, expanding. Oozing. Red.
     Naturally, this was when Janis ceded all control. First she stopped sucking on my fingers and opened her mouth with my hand still dangling out and let out a series of emphatic, porn star noisess that increased in pitch each time. I removed my hand from her mouth at about the moan where she reached “ti” on the harmonic scale. I mean to double penetrate her now gaping giant vagina with a finger from each hand, but Janis spazzed out on her last, highest note and did her most unintentionally controlling thing yet: she jerked her thighs closed over my head.

My hearing went blank. Smooth female thigh skin is the most effective sound proofing. It made me work my cramped tongue even harder. I dipped it deep inside her and curled it back in to my mouth. I did this again and again. I opened my eyes and stared into the shadow of her shaved pubes. Her feet bounced off my back. Her thighs stayed clamped. I felt the buzz of Kip responding to my text under my shoulder. And I thought about:
     (That curly long haired model in the multi-colored swimsuit on the beach, staring out at me. Re-incarnated now as the insecure Catholic school girl throttling me with her thighs).
         Janis unbuckled her thighs. Her feet bounced off my back. Aside from the rush of air, I was greeted by Janis’ very loud performance of falsetto moans-three of them-that felt like they would rupture my ear buds. She fumbled her hand on my forehead and pressed against it hard enough that I  cocked my head upward so I could stare down her belly, down her inward and outward moving diaphragm and watch the results of my work.
     It gave me one of my brilliant, twisted ideas.
     I dipped two fingers in to her and it felt like going fucking fishing with my hand. With my free hand, I fumbled around for my phone. I grabbed it. I picked it up, turned on the picture app, turned the camera lens towards Janis, backed away from her a few inches, kept a finger swirling and snapped a single, clean, beautiful image. Her legs gyrating around the edge of frame. Her head cocked to one side on her pillow. Her mouth open in sensation. Her bouncy, future soccer mom tits jiggling. All this captured in a still frame.
     

     I dropped the phone on the sheets. I twisted my finger out of her vagina and streaked it across her thigh and up her leg. She closed her legs like a malfunctioning pair of pliers as I did so. I felt like I needed to do something else before I left for good. I brought my cell phone hand up to her cheek, again, this time not bringing it anywhere near her mouth. I caressed her cheek as if to confirm that I could also be a sensitive, passionate lover (spoiler alert: I couldn’t).
     I had just laid my hand on her cheek, expecting her to continue to catch her breath while I stroked her skin. Instead she slapped my hand away.
     She sat all the way up, wildly, as if realizing that something she’d been dreaming was real. She looked down at my phone. I looked down at my phone.
     It was only then when I realized I’d pressed the wrong button. No photo had been taken. This was a video. It was still recording.
     “Did you just take a picture of me?” Janis said.
     “Not much of a picture,” I said. I stopped the video. I picked up the phone. “Should make an interesting video though.”
     She smacked the phone out of my hand. It careened down to the floor.
     “Fuck you Dennis, fuck you!” She screamed at me. She slapped my arms and my shoulders. She didn’t quite know what she was aiming for. I got off her bed and went to get my phone. As I searched around for it, I heard Janis saying;
     “Why the fuck did I trust you…why the fuck did I trust you…why the fuck…”
     It was all to herself. She was really talking to herself the whole time. Not to me at all. I went to grab my shirt. Janis had her face buried in a pillow. She was sitting upright, naked, her vagina still not put back together all nice and neat, a pillow pressed to her face. I snatched the shirt out from under her foot and put it on.
     “Fuck you!” she shouted again and threw the pillow at me.
     This was amusing enough that I had to show her what she’d done. I pulled up the video on my phone and turned it to her. I stood in the middle of her floor.
     “You did a good job,” I said. “This is how you did.”
     I can’t quite describe the look on Janis’ face when she looked from the phone to me.
     She screamed,
     “Get out!”
     I opened her door and left. I went home.

     Too bad she didn’t want to fuck me. She would have been a nice alternative to escort sex. I considered this loss as I crossed the street to my dorm minutes later, a cool air having descended on the campus and the sun slanted so that it’s rays fell on me and, so it felt, only on me. The other element to my walk was the slowly evaporating tang-taste of pussy, which reminded me that I’d eaten a girl out something intense and that you couldn’t even do with call girls. So, a win.
     I uploaded the video to my computer. I color corrected it a little. I thought about cropping it but I didn’t. The frame was already perfect. I jerked off to it.
     It was only then that I realized how I would resolve the issue of the serious, crazy debt I’d gotten myself in to. It was only then, as I waited for the picture to send in a text message to Dirk that I realized, everything is going to be okay.
     And it was a moment later, as I pondered what thought content did fire off in Janis’ mind as she stretched her jaw wide for those moments captured on video that I thought, I am living in my magazine, I am living in my magazine, I am living in my magazine now.