Beautiful

"Would you like to come to my house party Friday?" Since my friends and I were usually passed over when it came to social events, his invitation startled me. I'd never felt beautiful or accepted though I desperately desired both.  
  
"Uh, yes. Yes, I think so. I'll come."    
   
He laughed at my stumbling but smiled and touched my arm. "Good. I look forward to having you there."    
   
Loud music from downstairs rattled my new boyfriend’s bedroom walls. A house filled with high schoolers was unsupervised while his parents attended a concert.    
   
My head was exploding from the roar of music. The weight of it all was overwhelming; foreign spirits, too much alcohol, and his hands on my shoulders. When and how did we get naked?    
   
I went to my knees where his shining, blood-filled flesh swayed inches from my eyes. I looked up at his face and saw his lips move but could not hear his voice. I thought he said, “You are beautiful.”    
   
I said, “Right. Fuck you,” in a sour face, and knew he understood because he laughed.    
   
Suddenly the music from downstairs stopped, and we heard the low voices of authority enforcing noise ordinances.    
   
All was silent except for the sound of my frantic slurping. I lapped at him the way an infant might struggle over her mother’s breasts for milk. I wasn’t starving, and this wasn’t my mother’s firm-tipped nipple. I was sucking a smooth column of hardened lust because I wanted to be the object of someone's desire. I knew he was seeking all that was human in me, nothing more.    
   
Moments later, milky hot ribbons streamed over my face. Beyond the pulsing rod, I saw him rocking to an internal rhythm. He bit his lower lip, and his eyes sparkled with relief.        
   
In that brief moment, I felt beautiful.