Quick & Dirty: Green
by Aerosol Kid
Guacamole Doritos, Raspberry Sprite, E-Z Cheese and Triscuits. This is what Alex marshaled against her craptastic day at school, because eating herself stupid—by combining unnaturally colored things in a way that foretold of imminent and copious plaid barf—seemed right somehow.
One thing was crystal clear: Dylan dumping her in second period history, in front of everyone, raised the bar on assholedom. It was especially rich because before Alex he’d been nothing. Cute? Yes. Snappy dresser? Huh-uh. Enjoying band practice a little too much? Definitely. So she’d taken him on as her very own boy Eliza Doolittle. It was a bet with Lissa (or in this context, Colonel Pickering) over some nerdy diamond in the rough crying out for a makeover.
And what a job she’d done. When her so-called friends got a load of The New Dylan, things got dramatic in a Degrassi kind of way. Ashley—with her huge gonzo boobs and junk in tha trunk—wasted no time moving in. By now even the principal had heard the rumor about Alex’s allegedly hi-larious noises during sex under the bleachers, sex that had never actually happened. It was a brilliant two-pronged attack: (1) one of your best friends stabs you in the back, and (2) your boyfriend publicly dumps you while Mr. Friedman smirks from behind his desk. Alex had gone from It-girl to loser in one school day.
Fucking smug Ashley and Dylan...
She couldn’t help but smile a bit as she squirted processed cheese on a dusty green Dorito. “Ashley and Dylan” sounded oh-so-WB. Maybe everyone would soon realize how much they deserved each other. Then maybe the persecution of Saint Alex would cease.
Her phone chimed from deep inside her book bag, on the couch next to her. She licked the cheese off her fingers before spelunking after it. Lissa, she noted, as she fished out the antenna and lifted the phone to her ear. Pity party!
“I hate it for you, babe,” her best friend consoled.
Alex grabbed the remote in her free hand and switched on the TV. “Rrrrr. I don’t think I can talk about it,” she fumed.
“Forget him. Look, we created him. We can make more...”
Lissa was using this hysterical Mad Professor voice, and Alex had to swallow hard to tighten her grip on her petulance. “Yeah. We’ll create an army of Dylans. Fifty episodes of ‘Eye On the Nerdy Guy’ and then how special will he be?”
“Right, and then we’ll take our pick of the best ones. Ashley can have more of our leftovers.”
“Fuck her.”
“I don’t have to. Dylan is probably seeing her ‘O’ face right now.”
“’Oh, oh, oh!’” Alex keened. “’Dylan, please be my baby’s daddy!’ Whore. I can’t believe she said that stuff about me.”
The TV was switched over to the DVD player, which she didn’t notice until now. It seemed like the movie was paused on that Paramount Pictures lead-in, the one where the stars go around the mountain. But the stars just kept going around and around the snow-capped peak and the main menu failed to appear. Weird.
“’Oh Dylan!’” shrieked Lissa in Alex’s ear, “’I finally found a guy who can satisfy my nympho needs and play the clarinet!’ Hey, did you ever go down on him, by the way?”
Alex scoffed, urging Lissa to talk to her unseen hand. “It was a short ride. And he went off in my hair.”
There was a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll bet you never got a return on your investment. That truly sucks, Alexandra.”
She tried Pause, Play, Stop and Menu, but those stars still whizzed around the damned mountain. “On the bright side, there will be no more Dylan pee-pee in this mouth,” she observed.
Then the strangest thing happened. A pale hand appeared on the screen, in front of the mountain. Her mouth fell open.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. ‘Always look on the bright side of life,’” Lissa sang.
The hand extended its index finger. Beckoned. Alex suddenly lost all interest in Lissa. “Look, thanks for calling, Leez. I gotta go.”
“Are you listening, Alexandra? Don’t make me come over—”
Click. The cell slipped out of her fingers and was instantly forgotten.
Without Lissa’s bright chatter, the ambient noise in the room was suddenly deafening. More sinister... Alex thought of Mom coming home to find her sitting here with all this junk food carnage on the coffee table, staring slack-jawed at their broke-ass DVD player.
Then the mysterious hand rotated, showing her its palm, and her head bonked onto the couch cushion. She just melted into the furniture out of confusion or excitement, just out-of-it enough to not know which. Or to sense the spell that held her.
A hot breeze wafted up her skirt, against the orange thong that was definitely against the school dress code but just as definitely out of Dylan’s wet dreams. She groaned a little, eyes wide, mouth open. Her shoes squeaked along the glass coffee table as her thighs parted. She was aiming her twat at the TV and she didn’t know why.
The palm rotated out of view and a sly index finger pointed between her legs at what was suddenly most on Alex’s mind, as those damned stars orbited again and again with a loopy insistence. Alex unbuttoned her skirt because she really felt like she ought to, glad to expose herself and release her pent-up body heat. But she still felt pinched, constricted. A few wriggles more and she was free of her white blouse. The room spun as she regarded the pointing finger.
“Uhm...” she heard herself say, as her own finger slipped in. She was so wet and relaxed already that she got it all the way inside just as her thumb found her button. Her eyes rolled up and the silence of the house consumed her. The blissful buzzing in her ears was the same thing making her clit swell. Goose bumps broke out on her neck and shoulders. Her stroking made her dizzier and the dizziness made her stroke harder. It took a great deal of effort to look at the TV.
The finger began to dance left to right, in a sort of “Oh no she didn’t!” way. Alex moaned grumpily when her fingers froze. The TV was in charge and wanted her to know it. Her hips twitched and her sneakers slipped desperately on the coffee table. The snacks she’d sought solace in minutes ago were all over the carpet now.
The ghostly hand showed her its palm once again. She felt her own hot, shaking palm on her belly, dragging upward, pushing down extra hard over her breast, the better to feel the sharp twinge from her nipple as she raked over it. “Aaaahhh,” Alex cried, like a crystal goblet that had just been chimed. This was way better than any of Dylan’s crude petting.
Then the hand relaxed, and Alex’s head lolled to one side, her damp, frizzy hair clinging to her cheek. Her stomach heaved against her palm as she noticed that the living room curtains were open. And that most of her buff, sweaty bod was on full display. Mr. Barnegat was out in his yard piddling with his leaf blower. He hadn’t noticed her yet, but he’d be most interested any second, no doubt. Yet she couldn’t muster enough concern to do anything about it.
Inevitably, her gaze returned to the television. She wanted it to further direct her, even if it meant putting on a show for the whole neighborhood. Now the disembodied hand showed her its thumb and index finger, which was all the hint Alex needed. Her cramped, forgotten hand came to life inside her. The thumb on the TV jerked upward repeatedly, and Alex frigged herself roughly, in perfect time. “Aaaahhhhhhhmmmm!” she groaned, squirming on the increasingly damp couch.
The thumb twitched with increasing urgency. Again. Again. Again. And again.
“Oh! Oh! Oh? Oh!” Alex cried. Her free hand squeezed her bare arm as the strap of her bra cut deliciously into her skin. “Uhmmmm? Yeah...”
There were words scrolling behind the hand, the stars and the mountain now, so fast Alex could barely register them as she frigged herself furiously to the rhythm dictated by the ever-waggling finger on the TV. “It’s way too late,” she whispered, paraphrasing the text as it whizzed by. “I’m already yours. I must let you train me to give up and surrender...”
Sounded good. “All right...” she agreed.
The crest began near her busy fingertips, but in an unfamiliar place. It grew perfectly between her sticky thighs, blossoming into such a wondrous thing that a tear ran down her cheek as the sweat broke from every pore. She quaked stupidly and swallowed and occasionally tried to gasp, raising her butt several inches off the couch to grind into her soaked hand.
It took several seconds for her to register the familiar presence of her mother in the room, before she remembered the food all over the carpet, and the reckless abandon with which she masturbated even now. Oh, and the curtains are open...
But the hand still required her undivided attention.
“You promised,” her mother murmured behind her, much the same way Alex had just been murmuring at the screen. “You said you wouldn’t do it to my daughter. But yes... You will help me understand.”
“We must obey,” Alex realized. And it was true.