Page 59 of Free to Dream
“Brandy Alexander and olive juice,” she confirms to a round of “Ewws” from my other sisters. “What the hell, Phil?” Em exclaims.
Jason puts his head in his hands as he asks, “Were you trying to kill her?”
“We were at a bar. I had limited items to work with,” he protests, affronted. We all shake our heads at him in disgust before turning to Corinna.
“I heard the stories from Ali and Holly. I decided to go for the real thing and then talk to him about it afterward. I figured I would rather spit it up on a guy the first time than gag with any concoction Phil could make up. He seemed to be getting worse as we all got older,” she admits.
We all burst into laughter. Some of my stress dissipates realizing this wasn’t some disgusting hazing ritual. In his own warped way, Phil really was trying to support his baby sisters.
“So, do you need a little mood music for your debut, Cass? Or are you going to just grab the wiener and give it a go?” Phil’s eyes are sparkling with mirth, and some other unnamed emotion.
Just then, Luke Bryan’s “Move” starts playing over the sound system. I remember the heat of Caleb’s body pressed against mine as we were dancing. His arm was low and tight against my hips, pulling me against him, feeling the tight hard ridge of his cock pressed against me. I close my eyes. I feel no fear, just a hot burning want pulsing through me. A need to be able to be with this man.
To be whole.
Eyes fluttering to a slit, I stand and reach across the table for the brat. Briefly grateful Phil left the raw mushroom head off, I open my mouth slightly. The tip of the bratwurst slides between my lips. My mouth widens naturally as I start to feel the fleshy meat move toward the back of my throat. Pulling it out slightly, I lick around it, trying to get some of the meaty flavor away. In the distance of my mind, I can hear the demented sounds of my sisters whooping it up, cheering me on, and Phil saying “holy shit” over and over.
I must be doing it right.
I figure if someone was spying in on us, there would be no doubt about how obscene this is. We look like we’re playing a crazy bachelorette party game we found on the Internet.
Tipping my head back slightly to open my throat a bit more, I manage to suck the brat down to where Phil has pinned in the Brussels sprouts. Holding it for a few seconds, I pull it gently out of my mouth and lay it on the table next to the shot. Right as I’m about to shoot it, Em yells, “In three or four parts to make it real.”
Fine.
The first pull tastes like over-salted béchamel. Second, more of the same. By the time I hit the third and fourth parts of Phil’s “cum shot,” I’m not really tasting anything. I put the glass down and open my eyes fully to a round of applause. But the moment to top them all is when Jason turns to Phil and says, “I don’t even think you did that well the first time with mine.” That causes Phil to choke on his wine, echoed by the hysterical laughter from the women at the table, myself included.
When we all calm down, Jason turns to me and asks, “Now, what is it you want to know, Cass? What it feels like to realize you’re in love, or what it feels like to have the physical connection with that person?”
Phil, serious now that fun time with food is over, reminds me gently, “Cass, technically you’re not…”
“I know that I’m not technically a virgin, Phillip. But not since I was nine has anyone or anything ever been close to…you know. Besides, that has nothing to do with this.”
“Cass, it has everything to do with this,” Phil disagrees gently.
Sighing, I acknowledge his comment with a nod. “I understand your concern, but it doesn’t fit here. Truly. I don’t feel the same with Caleb. The fears are just silent.”
“You’ve only known him such a short time, Cass,” Ali argues.
“How long did it take Phil and Jason?” I counter. Standing, I pick up my wine and meander around the great room. “He knows everything already. There’s no need to hide who I am and play games.”
“But what about him?” Em asks. Holding up her hand, she declares, “I’m not arguing against this. I’m just wondering where his head is at.”
“I’m not saying I’m going to jump his bones tomorrow, y’all.” I’m exasperated. I lean my back against the bar. “If it makes you feel better, he let me in, and, no, I won’t share what we talked about,” I say before Phil can open his mouth to ask. “No amount of your badgering will make me tell you, Phil. That’s between Caleb and me. But let me just say by doing so, I felt comfortable enough being alone with him, waking up with him in my bed with my back to him.”
They all suck in a breath, knowing for me what that means. When I was a young girl, even school pictures were a traumatic experience knowing someone I didn’t explicitly trust would be at my back. All my school pictures show me with a glistening of tears in my eyes.
I’m still not thrilled when I have a stranger at my back to this day, but I cope. But out-and-out trust, like I gave Caleb, is reserved for only those who hit the core of me.
I have no idea how he managed to navigate past my barriers so quickly.
“That’s right. I. Trust. Him. Who knows? He may end up being an ass and doing something to break my heart.”
Phil interrupts, growling, “I’ll kill him if he does.”
Waving his drama aside, I continue. “You told me, Phil. I couldn’t plan for this. There’s no way I could have. Hear me though. I feel unburdened and weightless when I’m with him. His arms give me strength and his smile gives me hope. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to feel?”
My eyes scan around the table, where my sisters are reaching for each other’s hands. Phil falls back in his seat, mouth agape. Jason’s smile is both knowing and proud at how I’m taking my stand against my past, against my fear, and against my family.
