"Three Years"
A Taryll Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Non-Sexual Cameos by Taj and TJ Jackson)
Capistrano,
California
Late
Autumn, 1996
By
all accounts, the term stalking has come to have an extremely
negative connotation, with links to such behaviors which are deemed
threatening, aggressive, and harassing, with one party being the
object of known, unwanted and oft-rejected advances by that of
another party.
Of
course, that's reserved for the very extreme cases wherein one's
safety has been breached and some form of interventions, particularly
that involving law enforcement is needed.
Yes,
this could be considered a tale of stalking, but only in the
most finite, loosest, most fluid sense of the word.
For
years, Devon Spencer had long attracted the attention of an admirer,
one whom had watched her daily. Watched her as she left her home in
the mornings and returned in the evenings, sometimes going so far as
to follow Devon to some of her favorite haunts and hangouts around
the small, coastal enclave.
And
yet, she never noticed, never saw, never got that gut feeling, not
even once, that she was being continuously, and avariciously
observed, examined and shadowed.
Admired,
fawned over and pined after.
If
only...if only Devon, stepping out into the little alcove that
sufficed as her front porch, had taken the time to peer only a few
feet across the street...paid extremely close attention to the
curtained windows of the stately colonial facing her
own...perhaps...just perhaps...she might have glimpsed
him...glimpsing her.
Taryll
Jackson first became aware of Devon Spencer on a humid, balmy
afternoon, late in September of 1993.
Taryll,
himself a 'man' of eighteen for a little over a month, had graduated
from the prestigious Harmon Preparatory Academy earlier in the spring
of that same year, but continued to haunt the campus.
Albeit,
not by his own doing.
While
Taryll had decided to take a year off between high school and college
to 'find' himself, whatever that meant—though several universities
had offered him 'free-ride' scholarships as he was a rare double
whammy of being incredibly intelligent and an adept athlete—he had
also been relegated to ferrying his kid brother, TJ back and forth to
school, by his father, who insisted Taryll do something other than
stick to his pillow with crusted drool until way after lunchtime, a
habit he'd fallen into over the summer.
For
the last two weeks, since the fall semester had began, driving Mr. TJ
had been Taryll's 'job'.
(With
no sense of pay beyond a paltry twenty bucks a week for gas.)
Eight
o'clock every morning, he dropped TJ off at the front of his alma
mater and at three in the afternoon he returned for the pickup.
At
exactly five minutes to the hour, Taryll slumped lackadaisically
behind the wheel of his convertible Beemer, a graduation present from
his father, only halfway listening to the Toni Braxton cassette he
was blasting to the point the speakers threatened to burst into
flame, the deepened bass causing the entire vehicle to quiver.
For
the moment, he was consumed with two thoughts. One: he prayed night
and day that TJ would go out for a sport, any sport, so that he would
stay at school longer and have to be brought home by bus, thus
freeing Taryll of his monotonous chore. And two: Why couldn't July
come around quicker, so that his then fifteen-year-old sibling would
turn sixteen and learn to drive?
Taryll
grumbled to himself on the last matter; TJ was the baby of the
family, and while Taryll and their elder brother, Taj, a freshman
across the country at New York University Film School, had received
cars as graduation gifts, the youngest was spoiled rotten, indulged
to the point where his older siblings wanted to physically vomit,
typically getting whatever he asked for, in short order.
It
was no secret TJ desired, nay expected, a car for his Sweet
Sixteen, as he had been broadly hinting at it nonstop since last
Christmas.
On
his wish list was a hunter green 1994 BMW 325i convertible trimmed in
chrome.
The
car would come; Taryll knew it implicitly, as their father owned
seven BMW dealerships throughout the tri-county area. Cars
being gifted were a fact of life.
Taj
had received one, Taryll had received one, and completing the set, so
would TJ.
BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!
BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!
BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!
Taryll
was snapped from his fantasies of freedom as the last bell of the day
bonged several times, and seemingly from every doorway on the campus,
students, all outfitted in navy and white uniforms, with hints of
mustard yellow, in several variants depending on class, came flooding
out amidst giggles, shouts and general noise.
A
few, knowing him through TJ waved, and called to him.
He
had been impatiently on the lookout for his brother, which generally
took eons, as TJ was a very personable, sociable boy with a large
crowd of friends, wannabes and hangers-on, whom he'd drag ass and
goof off with for so long, Taryll, on more than one occasion had
tried to leave his size-twelve Adidas in TJ's narrow behind.
After
half an hour, with no sign in sight of his lazy relative, Taryll
flung open the door to his vehicle, destined to weed out his brother
and drag him by his ears.
He
did want to get home before grey hairs started to take root on his
head!
There
was more to his life than being a goddamn chauffeur to an ungrateful
brat--
“Oh...”
In
one burst, all the air in his lungs vacated the premises, a hand,
damp and clammy clutched the space between his throat and chest and
above them his lips thrust out in a hard circle of jarring.
His
mind stopped cold and every hair to him stood on end, gooseflesh
encapsulating his dermis from top to tip.
His
eyes widened, went glassy and glazed, and to the few wandering around
him, he appeared more stoned than Cheech and Chong combined.
Taryll
Jackson was a clean living sort, never touching anything harder than
a Luden's cough drop.
But
in that moment he was more giggly, stupid and lightheaded as anyone
had a right to be.
And
it was all because of her.
In a
sea of navy and plaid, it was hard to distinguish one pupil from the
next, as individuality was a trait that faded to nothingness in an
environment where education and the gaining thereof was of optimum
importance.
(And
for thirty grand a semester it had to be!)
But...when
Taryll caught sight of her...everything else seemed to blur
and disappear from view and he was acutely, keenly attuned to her.
Only
her.
She
stood just outside the double doors of the front entrance, students
continuing to flow around her, as she perched on the very top of the
stone steps leading into the towering four-story brick building.
While
most of the other students, the girls especially, were showing the
wear and tear of the day, rumpled uniforms, messy undone hair, little
shiny, unadorned fresh faces, this particular girl was impeccable.
Everything
orderly, everything in place with exacting precision.
Her
uniform of a navy cardigan bearing the Harmon Prep crest featuring a
moose, white Peter Pan collared blouse, navy, yellow and white
striped tie and plaid skirt, Taryll quickly recognized it as the one
worn by sophomore girls.
Her
face, though round and showing her youth plainly, had been made up
charmingly with makeup—to the very limits the school allowed—giving
her a look that mixed elements of a traditional pinup with that of a
porcelain dolly.
Her
face was quite pale and matte, a rarity in a world where most all the
girls baked themselves to being melanoma-riddled, with strong, arched
dark brows, soft, pointed features, the only true color to her face
coming from incredibly luminous, stark, feline-like green eyes,
accented by thick black liquid liner and a bright, cherry-red pout
that was anything but gaudy, as red quickly could be on one so young.
Her
hair, long, lustrous and a deep, warm chestnut brown, had been fixed
into two ponytails atop her head, further contributing to odd, yet
complimentary blend of girl and woman.
Her
body did read as all woman.
While
she was tall and somewhat slim, she did have all the swellings in the
right places, with long dainty legs, covered in white knee-socks,
small feet in patent navy Mary Janes.
Never
had Taryll seen a girl so perfect, so pristine, so beautiful...
He
drew in a breath, nostrils flaring, that came flying back out in a
squeak as realization hit him like a Mac truck:
She
was a sophomore.
In
the same class as his kid brother—she was only fifteen years
old!
And
while the three year gap between her fifteen and his eighteen didn't
seem so very wide, there was a little thing known as the Age of
Consent, and depending on how liberal or conservative this girl's
parents were, if Taryll had dared tried to make any sort of
advancement towards her, he could have been staring at a jail cell
from the inside out.
He
could not pursue her.
By
error of birth, his too soon, hers too late, she was untouchable.
Sadly,
all Taryll could do was look on, his heart sinking out somewhere
through the bottom his feet, as two more girls exited the building,
linked arms with his young enchantress and the trio proceeded down
the steps and away to the bus loading zone, vanishing onto one of the
large yellow metal behemoths.
Vanishing
along with it, was Taryll's heart.
Right,
wrong or otherwise, in that precise moment, Taryll's mind was gone,
had given up and ceded.
It
was Taryll's heart that was now in control.
And
his heart would stay in control.
Over
the following weeks, as September melded into October, Taryll tried
time and again, over and over, to catch a glimpse of the girl whom
had yanked his heart clean out his bosom, tossed it into her chic,
white fur backpack and carried it on her merry way.
When
he dropped TJ off in the mornings, he lingered until the last
straggler had entered the building in an attempt to see her,
and often sat so long at the end of the day, it was TJ who cried foul
from having to wait to be taken home.
Yet,
there was no sign of her, much to Taryll's torment and
turmoil.
Had
he seen her to start with?
Had
he simply made her up?
He
had been quite bored and agitated that day in September.
Had
she been nothing more than a figment of a tired and vexed mind?
There
was no way to be fully sure, one way or the other.
For
a brief while, Taryll thought he was going to lose his mind.
He
had no idea how to find to girl; he didn't even know her name.
And
he was far too ashamed to go to his younger sibling asking about her.
It
was too strange, and a touch creepy if he thought of it too hard.
A
man his age, done with primary schooling, asking about a classmate
of his brother's.
And
knowing TJ, he'd have likely been laughed at and poked at about it
for God only knew how long until he snapped.
(The
last time he had snapped, he had been thirteen, TJ ten, and after a
long exchange of insults that grew nastier and more evil with each
round, Taryll had gone off the deep end, punched TJ and effectively
knocked the last of his baby teeth right out of his head.)
Taryll
was thrown into an abyss of blackness, close to depression, at the
prospect that he may never see her again.
Searching
for her so desperately, and without respite for his efforts,
his esteem would plummet and he would lie in bed, his room darkened,
refusing any sort of contact with the rest of his family, even
forgoing meals, losing a good ten pounds in the process until his
father, oblivious to his son's dire plight, and only seeing what he
took for sloth and indolence, sat on Taryll and force fed him a
burger and cheese fries to rouse him from his funk.
He
had been quite literally dragged from his bed by his ankles, his
father yelling so loudly, the panes of glass in the windows shaking,
declaring that he was young and he refused to watch Taryll sleep the
best years of his life away, ergo, get your ass out and do
something!
Taryll
had gone out, driving around until his car sputtered with an empty
tank, leaving him to schlep on foot with a can to the nearest station
for gas.
But
his heart and soul were emptier; he longed to see his little beauty.
Every
thought was of that rotund alabaster face, framed by the dark
ponytails and pinpointed with the mint eyes, slanted so exotically in
her head.
What
was he to do?
How
was he to find her?
He
was a man on the verge of collapse.
Then,
as always at the last possible moment, fate intervened.
A
few weeks later, as was the routine in the Jackson household, Tito
Jackson, single father left to wrangle his two remaining boys and get
them off on their way in the morning, was a creature of habit, a
slave to some repetition: started the coffee maker, set out bowls and
boxes of cereal with a gallon of milk and climbed the stairs.
There
was no rhyme or reason to whom he chose to wake first, some mornings
it was TJ, others it was Taryll. As both boys' rooms were directly
across the hall from one another, it all depended upon whose room
their father chose to invade first.
Either
way, Tito would open the door, mosey across in the semi-gloom to the
window, yank the curtain, sending it flying to the top of the window
with a snap, sounding as through the whole house was
collapsing around a slumbering 'Tee', in turn sending said 'Tee'
jumping sky-high in his underwear and falling down blinded by the
abrupt intrusion of sunlight into weary eyes.
Then
Tito was a memory in an Armani suit, his only comment to the
drunkenly disoriented, half-crawling, half-walking, grunting and
groaning fruit of his loins,
“Time
to get up!”
That
particular morning, Taryll was the unfortunate first of the two
brothers to be awakened, the snap of his curtain coming as
such a surprise, he'd flown up and out of his bed, hit the nearest
wall, ricocheted off and landed in a mangled heap on the hardwood in
the space between the two, moaning as he heard TJ scream “Pops,
no!” across the hall.
It
took Taryll a good five minutes to pull his way from that too-small
chasm, in order for him to crawl across his bed, desperate to pull
the curtain back down.
He
was going blind the sunlight was bombarding his pupils so hard.
Secured
on his feet, he stopped long enough to adjust his tightie-whities,
starting to ride way too far into the crack splitting his plump
cheeks, one hand behind him digging like he was in search of gold,
the other outstretched for that damnable curtain.
Standing
in the window, which overlooked the neat, clipped front lawn of his
home, Taryll, continued to fish in his buttocks and trying to grab
the cord, dangling just out of reach over his head, starting to raise
up on his tiptoes.
As
he did, for a split second his gaze fell on the house across the
street.
It
was a house Taryll had seen all of his life, a large, white colonial,
much like all the rest lining the street, that had set empty for over
a year, following the death of the elderly gentleman whom had lived
there as long as Taryll could remember.
A
week earlier he'd noticed the “For Sale” sign that had occupied
the lawn was finally gone and a few days afterwards, several moving
vans had come along, with antique furniture and paintings being
carried in.
Though
Taryll had never seen, nor bothered to ask whom had taken residence
as his new neighbors, only knowing someone drove a robin's-egg blue
Mercedes.
That
cool, yet still unseasonably warm morning, Taryll Jackson found out
just whom lived and breathed across that two lane road from him. .
Loitering
on the stoop were two girls in Harmon Prep uniforms...girls whom he'd
seen before.
A
tall, exceedingly slim Black girl, long braids hanging to her waist
with so much metalwork in her mouth, even from across the street,
Taryll could make out the sunlight bouncing off it, and a shorter,
plumper Whitegirl, her auburn hair cropped short into a smooth pixie
reminiscent of that worn by Josie Bisset on Melrose Place.
Discarded
backpacks laid at their feet, the two girls chattering back and forth
nonchalantly.
Taryll
had seen these girls before.
His
breath was fleeing and leaving his lungs to burn.
They
had been the two to join her on the front steps of the school,
not so long ago.
Did...did...did
she live...
Taryll's
hands pressed the panes of glass, as, across the street, the front
door opened, and through it, she stepped.
There
she was again, impeccable, beautiful, glorious...his dream girl.
The
creamy skin, the glowing green eyes, the fiery scarlet mouth.
This
time, instead of ponytails, her hair flowed loosely, held back by a
thin yellow headband.
Taryll
was helpless, staring as the girl, smiling and laughing with those
crimson lips, hugged her friends, tossed that fur backpack over one
shoulder, the three linking arms and proceeding down to the end of
the road, where the bus would pick them, and several other kids from
the surrounding streets, to take them to Harmon.
Taryll
fell to his knees.
That....that
stunning creature was his neighbor?
She
lived across the street from him.
His
chest ached.
She
was so close....yet so far away.
The
habit crept up on Taryll Jackson slowly.
Much
like a single flake of snow falling could set off an entire
avalanche, by the time he realized how horribly deep he was in, it
was far too late for rescue.
It
had all begun innocently enough, each morning, Taryll would stand to
the side of his window, partially wrapped in the curtain to disguise
himself.
Peeking
out at the house across the street.
He
couldn't start his day without seeing her.
On
sunny days she held her two girlfriends' arms and the three would
walk together. To the bus stop.
On
rainy days, she carried the sweetest neon pink, clear plastic
umbrella over her head.
When
the weather took a turn for the colder, she was sleek in a navy
peacoat.
Always
with the furry backpack.
Always
with the glamorous makeup.
She
never missed a beat, it seemed.
And
then there were the weekends.
Those
thrilled Taryll more,he could devote more time to his new hobby,
sitting in shadows by the open window, looking at her when he could.
For
as long as he desired.
Drawing
his own conclusions from his covert observations.
She
had to have been a bookworm; she was constantly on the front steps
reading. Taryll noticed she seemed to favor the Sweet Valley High
and Fear Street series the most, as he could see their covers
plainly from his perch.
Her
style, when out of uniform, was exhilarating to the young man.
Her
look was flirty, without being tawdry.
She
was sexy in a tasteful way...the best way possible in Taryll's mind.
She
was flirty, but respectable.
She
wore the latest fashions, baby doll dresses, spaghetti-strap crop
tops with tight jeans, looking a model at every turn.
Anything
she slipped onto that figure was the right move, Taryll couldn't'
remember a time at all when she didn't look pulled together and
effortless.
So
many girls looked as though they were trying too hard; she never did.
So
young and already so wise.
Four
weeks into his spying, Taryll learned her name by chance.
TJ
had been in the living room with one of knuckle-headed friends,
Taryll didn't bother to learn the names of his brother's buddies, TJ
had so many.
The
pair had been discussing the better-looking girls in their class when
the knuckle-head questioned, “...Teej, what do you think of that
chick across the street.”
Diet
Pepsi shot out Taryll's nose when TJ replied with a loud sniff of
disdain,
“Oh,
you mean Devon Spencer? She's cute, but stuck up as all hell...”
Devon.
Her
name was Devon.
Taryll
ignored the comment she was stuck up. If she were conceited, she had
every right to be, pretty as she was.
Most
beautiful girls were.
Still,
armed with this information, Taryll kept his distance, but his
watchful ways began to evolve.
A
few days a week, he would venture from his home to follow Devon
around town.
Just
to see what she did...learn more about her.
When
she wasn't in the company of her friends, she was at the public
library, checking out Sweet Valley High volumes one week and
Fear Street the next.
When
she shopped at the mall, she liked to buy Revlon, Maybelline and
Janes cosmetics.
Except
for her lipstick. Taryll found out her signature, blue-based red pout
came from a smaller cosmetics line, called Bella and the exact shade
was Red-y Or Not.
Her
favorite spot in the Food Court was Burger Paradise.
She
liked her burgers with extra cheese and mayo, and all the fixings
except tomatoes, swapping out her fries for onions rings and washing
it all down with a banana milkshake.
She
hung out in Sam Goody, with a penchant for pop music. She seemed to
really like the boy band N'Sync, as several times, Taryll saw her
purchasing posters of bandmate JC Chasez.
Devon
spent the most money on clothes in stores like Contempo Casuals, Wet
Seal and Macy's...slipping snugly into a size six.
Taryll
was never noticed as he followed Devon around, as he stuck to the
background, going so far to wear bland neutrals to avoid detection.
Often
he'd buy clothes he didn't need or eat food he didn't want to keep up
the ruse.
What
bothered Taryll the most, was how truly lonely Devon Spencer
appeared.
Yes,
he had seen the pair of girls she ran to school with, but he most
often caught her alone.
She
seemed nice, charming and sweet.
Why
didn't she have a gang of friends like his brother?
Was
she really stuck-up like TJ had claimed her to be?
How
Taryll wished he could be with her.
Two
lonelys to make a couple.
Taryll
was on his lonesome as most of the people he knew and associated with
were in college themselves.
Oh
why...why couldn't they be together?
Taryll
tossed and agonized over the idea too many night.
He
wouldn't let her be so isolated if he had a choice.
But
he did respect the age gap separating them.
Eventually,
weeks became months and months became years.
Taryll
enrolled in a nearby university the following year, with a majoring
in business to handle his own car dealership one day.
While
he was swamped in textbooks, statistics, essays and pie charts, Devon
was never far from his mind or eyesight.
His
spare time was devoted to her.
While
TJ's Sweet Sixteen passed with an extravagant party at a rented out
theme park, a Ferris Wheel being set ablaze in the process when
things got out of control with over five hundred wild teens in
attendance—not to mention the outstanding fine and damages his
father had had to cover for all the damage—Taryll saw Devon's
passed more quietly.
He
only saw a bubblegum-pink Mercedes in the driveway with a white bow
on it for her.
No
party. No fanfare.
Taryll
had been tempted to send a gift, but lost his nerve.
The
same thought plagued him at Christmas.
Though
they occupied a wealthy hamlet just south of San Diego, and it was
clear Devon had all the material things any teen-aged girl could
possibly want for, she seemed starved for attention and affection.
Taryll
rarely saw Devon's father, Mr. Spencer, a towering, heavyset man,
always in a three -piece suit, yelling at the poor help the few and
far-between times he was home.
He
was a single father, the popular gossip saying Mrs. Spencer ran off
and left them when Devon was small.
Taryll
wanted even more to console and shelter Devon.
Was
Devon being left alone all the time?
Be
there for her, give her the love she needed.
Did
she even know he existed?
It
was apparent she didn't count to TJ's crowd, as she was never invited
over and the two didn't acknowledge each other if they even stared
across the street at one another.
In
the long run, Taryll did figure it was a blessing Devon had never set
foot in his house, he knew he couldn't control himself.
Yet....yet,
each morning, as he hid in the curtain, Taryll knew, sooner or later,
her eighteenth birthday would come to pass.
He
was slowly, miserably counting the days.
Two
years into his watching, Taryll discovered Devon's actual birth date.
One
weekend in the middle of August, the pink Mercedes vanished on a
Saturday night to be replaced by a newer model in maroon that gleamed
in the Sunday's dawn.
August
thirteenth...her birthday fell exactly five days after Taryll's own.
By
then, Taryll was twenty and Devon, seventeen.
Less
than a year until she was legal and he could....finally...approach
her.
Pursue
her.
Make
her his.
Let
himself be hers.
One
year.
Over
the course of the next three hundred and sixty-four days, Taryll
planned, schemed and brainstormed ways to make an impression on
Devon.
Taryll
desired perfection. The perfect gift, the wittiest things to say to
capture her heart.
He
began to take better care of himself, eat healthier foods, even work
out a bit.
He
wanted to be a dream for Devon as she was for him and had been for
too long.
Was
he really what Devon Spencer wanted in a boyfriend?
Taryll
only hoped, wished and prayed incessantly at every turn.
He
never saw Devon go out, never saw her date.
Briefly
he wondered of she liked girls but pushed that idea out of his head.
He'd
seen her with her friends and the relationship looked to be nothing
more than a platonic one.
Maybe...just
maybe...she was waiting for him too.
The
only time Taryll was not focused on Devon's birthday was when his own
twenty-first came around.
An
occasion that drew his elder brother, Taj, from New York for a night
of carousing that led to the pair getting so merrily, crazily,
roaringly drunk both blacked out, in Taj's hotel room at a Hilton.
But
when you decide to throw back what Taj had dubbed “Erasers”,
which included dumping some of the contents of six different types of
liquor into a highball glass, and drinking it straight,
debauchery was sure to follow.
Taryll
had awakened, three days later, a heap on the floor, to the
sound of Taj announcing what sounded an unending trail of curse
words.
“...no!
No! No! How the hell? The absolute fuck? My ass! Oh my God! My
ass!...”
It
took Taryll four tries, the first three resulting in him first
falling on his knees, then his backside, and finally his face before
he could get situated on his own two feet.
He
had no idea where his clothes had gone.
For
the occasion he'd sported a new Polo shirt and jeans and Jordan
sneakers, but all he wore now was a pair of plaid briefs and one
Fruit of the Loom sock.
Rubbing
sleep from his eyes and crusty drool from his mouth, Taryll recoiling
as his own breath was kicking like it was scoring an extra point in
the Super Bowl, he staggered, grabbing onto any available surface in
the room, aiming for the open door of the bathroom where his brother
was still audibly lamenting.
“...no
wonder my ass was throbbing like a motherfucker! How the hell did I
let this happen? How fucked up was I? I don't even remember this!
I'll never be taken seriously as a filmmaker if people see this?
Goddamn, what if my girlfriend sees this bullshit? She'll drop me
like a bad habit—Jesus Christ!...”
Bracing
against the door, Taryll, his head whirling and swimming could just
make out his older brother, standing near the basin against the far
wall, stripped completely naked, save for the towel he was holding to
his crotch for modesty.
It
took a moment for Taryll to realize his sibling was staring over his
own shoulder, an expression of utter panic on his round face, and
following his gaze he discovered what all the cursing had been about:
Placed
perfectly in the direct center of Taj Jackson's left butt cheek, was
a tattoo.
A
tattoo of Grumpy Bear from The Care Bears cartoon.
“...there's
a Care Bear on my ass! I don't even like the goddamn Care Bears and
there's now one on my ass! Oh my God! I didn't know I was that drunk!
I don't even remember this. HOW DID I MISS SOMEONE STICKING
A NEEDLE IN MY ASS? I
only had four 'Erasers'!...”
Taj
lamented harder, shaking his head, staring at the bright blue,
scowling bear etched forever onto his dermis.
Still
quite woozy, but tickled at his brother's inky gaff, Taryll had
ventured further into the bathroom, mouth opened to laugh.
All
that came out was a startled, frightened shriek when he caught sight
of his own reflection.
Every
muscle in his body tensed and Taryll's mouth sagged, his eyes
bulging.
Before
all had gone black, Taryll had assumed himself to be a fairly
attractive young man.
Tall,
hovering somewhere between slim and athletic, with a dark, coppery
complexion that came naturally from his mixed African-American and
Latin heritage.
He
had looked quite similar to his brother Taj, though his features were
a touch softer, and he had gotten his mother's greenish-hazel eyes,
instead of his father's brown ones.
But
the one thing Taryll Jackson knew was that before he'd gotten drunk
off his own plump ass, was that his hair had been almost exactly like
Taj's, a dark, blackish-brown, arranged in a spray of wild curls atop
his head. Taj's were coarser and his on the looser side, but his hair
had been almost jet black.
Had
being the key term, as Taryll Jackson was no longer of the brunette
persuasion.
“Holy...shit...”
Was all he could sputter approaching the glass tentatively, still not
believing his eyes.
His
hair...his hair!
It
was a bright, brilliant, unnatural shade of frosted blonde!
Somehow,
somewhere along the way during this wild bender, he'd allowed someone
to bleach his hair!
Just
as Taj was crying about having no recollection of having a needle
jammed in his butt to produce an effeminate cartoon bear, Taryll had
none of getting the color stripped from his follicles.
The
one thing he DID know, the longer he stared at the monstrosity
sprouting from his hairline, he had to fix it before he ever thought
about trying to approach Devon—only two days away!
Thus
began a frantic, fruitless journey.
Once
Taryll had sobered enough to drive, and punch Taj in the chest for
getting him into such a predicament, he'd had clothing sent to the
room, washed the stank off himself and set out across Southern
California in search of a stylist to restore his natural color.
Twenty-four
hours later, Taryll had been to twenty-five different salons all
along the coast, from big-name places to smaller mom-and-pop shops.
He
even ran into three shops specializing in working with Black and
mixed-race hair types.
Again
and again he was turned away, each of the stylists saying the
bleaching was too new, too fresh and any attempt to darken it would
have left him bald.
No
matter how begged, pleaded and wailed, no one would touch him.
He
was stuck, with what one hairdresser had described as the shade
“Nuclear Fallout Blonde”.
Indeed
Taryll, always particular and hypercritical of his appearance felt as
though an atomic bomb had landed on him.
He
had wanted to be perfect for Devon.
Be
her dream man.
That
had not included being tow-headed!
Alas,
there was nothing he could do. No where to turn, lest he come out
looking like a Cabbage Patch Kids doll.
He'd
just have to face Devon Spencer, and hoped the direct sunlight
bouncing off his 'do didn't burn her retinas.
He'd
planned too long, waited even longer.
He
would have to go through with this.
Taryll
prayed he wouldn't be laughed clear out of Capistrano.
Or
worse... have his heart broken.
August
the fifteenth dawned cloudless, bright and pleasantly hot.
As
was his routine, Taryll crawled from his bed, fished his underwear
out of his crack for the umpteenth time, and masked himself in the
curtain, staring across the street.
In
the driveway, as expected, was a new Mercedes, this one a pale,
champagne brown, a huge royal blue bow affixed to the hood.
Devon's
eighteenth birthday present from her father.
Taryll
lingered a long, tense moment, his measured breaths the only sound in
his ears, aside from that of his rapidly pounding heart.
There
were no other sounds to be heard within the Jackson household;
shortly after his birthday, Taryll's father had left with TJ to visit
several college campuses to help the recent graduate choose a school
in which to further his education.
Taryll
was alone...completely alone with his frayed nerves and wildly firing
thoughts.
All
about a girl he'd only looked at, never spoken to, not even a passing
'hello', only watched from afar.
Slowly,
tentatively, Taryll pulled himself from the window, and began to
ready himself for possibly the most important moment of his young
life.
He
showered, shaved, left Taj yet another angry rant on his answering
machine about his newly golden locks and for getting him so
powerfully drunk he looked like a Barbie doll now!
He
dressed himself simply, but in flattering colors, an oversized hunter
thermal tee over a plain white one, to bring out the green flecks in
his eyes and baggy khaki cargo pants, with white sneakers.
He
combed his hair as best he could, arranging his curls attractively,
with one dancing across his forehead.
After
a liberal dousing with his most expensive cologne, if he couldn't
look perfect, the least he could do was smell it, Taryll
ventured into the back of his walk-in closet.
For
weeks, Taryll had searched all over, here and yonder, hunting down
what he deemed would be the perfect gift for his dream girl.
Everything
had to be perfect. He wouldn't settle for anything less.
He
couldn't.
A
short while later, Taryll hesitated behind the closed door in the
front foyer of his house, staring at the gift wrapped package in his
hands. It was a sizable box, covered in a shiny, metallic pink paper,
a huge gauzy white bow with tons of curls stuck to the middle of it.
Was
he really doing this?
Was
he really doing to go, cross the street and ring the bell at the
Spencers?
Try
to charm Devon, and make her his?
Speak
to a girl whom he hadn't even sneezed towards in three years?
But
had been nearly obsessive over and haunted by dreams of her every
single night!
He
was.
In a
last ditch effort, in which he tried to foster the adequate amount of
confidence, Taryll threw his shoulders back, straightened his spine,
inhaled deeply, and flung open his front door.
And
immediately staggered in the doorway, eyes swelling in his head.
“Oh....”
The
word popped from his lips and he bumped back into the doorjamb.
Though
Taryll had been privy to the scene more times than he could count, he
couldn't help the rush of adrenaline that soared through his body,
making every hair to him rise upon end.
His
pulse racing, his pupils dilating, his breathing increasing.
His
palms becoming so moist and clammy he almost dropped the weighty gift
onto his feet.
Sprawled
across the brick and mortar steps, seemingly without a care in this
natural world, was Devon Spencer.
She
did appear both so put together and yet so effortlessly casual.
With
her eyes shut, she was bobbing her head in beat to the music playing
from the huge, multicolored ghetto blaster at her feet.
Her
wondrous, feminine form was clad in a fitted, dark-denim
spaghetti-strap dress worn over an off the shoulder red and white
striped tee. Opaque white stockings covered her shapely legs to the
knee, each topped with a red bow, a more than generous portion of
pale thigh to be sighted from under the extremely short hem of the
skirt.
Light
bounced and reflected off the red, platform-soled pumps she wore.
Had
she stepped right out of Clueless?
Not
waiting until his nerve had abandoned him, Taryll quickly jogged
across the road, up onto the opposite sidewalk and pace diminishing,
but not halting, he began to walk towards this creature.
As
he moved, a light, warm breeze blew, highlighting the nervous
perspiration that had sprung up on his forehead and causing the bow
still attached to the hood of the spank new auto to dance.
“......say
you'll love me again...undo this hurt you caused...when you walked
out the door...and out of my life....”
Getting
closer, Taryll could make out the heavy-voiced sounds of Toni
Braxton's latest hit, Unbreak my Heart spilling from the
boombox.
He
sent up a silent prayer that his heart wouldn't also be shattered.
He
stood over Devon, staring down at her in wonder. He'd never been so
close to her before, and it was a stunning revelation to see her
so...intimately.
Her
hair, worn loose and down, had a natural, very loose wave to it,
fanning out over her shoulders and contrasting her very white skin.
The
winged liner on unadorned lids, the scarlet pout. The long graceful
neck with the gentle indentations of her collarbones protruding.
The
thin silver bangles on her wrist, a wide silver ring on her right
thumb.
As
she moved her head in beat to the music, flashes of silver hoop
earrings were visible through her tendrils.
Another
breeze filled Taryll's nostrils with an alluring, spicy, becoming
fragrance—her perfume. He could smell her perfume!
Swallowing,
Taryll blinked once and opened his mouth, voice shaking just a tad.
“Um...Devon?”
Frankly,
his knees clacked together, as, at the sound of her name, those
almond-shaped, cat-like green eyes opened.
She
didn't looking directly at him. Not right off.
Those
eyes fell first to his shoes, a few inches from hers and slowly, like
a searchlight, they ascended up his body, over the pink package, and
lastly, his face.
He
noted a strange expression crossed that gorgeous little visage.
The
thick brows went up, eyes widening, with the red lips parting
slightly.
Below
them, her full bosom rose and fell more rapidly.
She
blinked several times in quick succession, her lush, bristly lashes a
shadow on her cheeks.
And
to his utter surprise, she gasped his own name, her voice an off-beat
mix of high, yet whispery in tone.
“Taryll
Jackson!”
His
own arched brows shot up to his hairline and he could physically feel
his nostrils flap as he drew in possibly the deepest breath of his
life.
Incredulous,
he questioned,
“You...you
know my name?”
Curls
bounced as the head nodded and he took a step back as Devon climbed
to her feet, unfolding her body, assisted by the heels stood even
with him, the green eyes consuming his hazel ones.
“Of
course...” She smiled anxiously, eyes growing even larger,
exaggerating her dolly-like look, and he wobbled. “You live right
across the street—duh!”
So
she had noticed him!
Had
his tongue not become meshed to the roof of his mouth, Taryll would
have screamed in glee.
The
eyes washed over him a second time with Devon adding giddily,
“I'd
always see you waiting in your car for TJ, to take him to school,
while I was down at the bus stop.”
“You
know TJ?” Taryll inquired and for a moment he faltered, afraid her
interest laid in his younger brother, and not himself.
Had
she been watching TJ the way Taryll had been watching her?
The
fear was alleviated when she corrected him, impossibly white teeth
being shown to him as Devon grinned,
“I
know of TJ; we ran in different circles in school.”
Her
eyes searched his face a while longer, then fell to the bright pink
box in his hands.
“Is...is
that for me?” She asked and Taryll, whom had completely forgotten
the present during their exchange, nodded wildly.
“Y...yes,
it's your birthday today, right?”
Those
luminous eyes sparkled.
“Yes!
How did you know?”
The
blonde head jerked towards the car. “That.”
“Oh
yes.” Devon tittered and it was the sweetest, most feminine sound
in the world to Taryll's ears. The more noise she made, the harder
and harder he was falling for her.
“That's
from my father. He upgrades my car every year. I'm so used to to it I
almost forget sometimes.”
Taking
the box from Taryll, Devon dropped down onto the steps, clutching it
to her lap and a moment later, he boldly joined her.
Hands
flying, low, oval nails colored a deep, iridescent navy, were tearing
the bow and paper away.
“You
didn't have to get me anything for my birthday, Taryll. That was very
sweet of you. Thank you.”
He
said nothing, holding his breath, nerves chipping at him, with Devon
revealing a plain white box, which she quickly ripped open.
There
was a long pause, and she stared off at the contents.
Laying
inside, cover up, were a half-dozen Sweet Valley High books.
“I...I...I...”
Taryll struggled for words, “I saw you reading those books a lot of
the time. I got you the newest ones...I hope you haven't read any of
them yet.”
Why
was she so pretty?
Why
did she smell so wonderful?
“No...”
The word was drawn out of her mouth as her head turned, with her
eyeing him. “This makes me very happy; SVH is my favorite
book series. You're so kind...”
In a
flash, it happened so quickly, Taryll was unsure if it were real or
his overwrought imagination, but he could have sworn that angel
beside him had kissed his cheek!
His
suspicions were confirmed, as giggling, Devon was rubbing at his
cheek with her thumb,
“I'm
sorry, I got my lipstick all over you!”
He
was so lightheaded, as though he'd downed another 'Eraser', glass and
all.
“It's
alright.” Taryll assured her and with another burst of confidence,
he heard himself,
“Are...that
is, do you have anything planned for your birthday? A party,
outing--”
The
curls swayed as Devon shook her head in the negative,
“I
wish; both my friends are out on college tours—Cynthia went to
Massachusetts and Leigh went to Utah. It's just me...”
She
trailed off and those lashes fluttered.
“Did...did
you have something in mind?”
Taryll,
whom had never thought he'd get this far was tripping between third
and home plate, but managed to blurt,
“Maybe
I could take you out to lunch? Anything you like—you are the
birthday girl!”
There
was another pause, with Devon's eyes running all over Taryll like
ants on a lollipop.
Those
plump red lips were curling at him.
“I...I'd
love it.” She agreed, the same hand that had wiped away her
lipstick smudge now pinching his cheek. “Let me get my purse.”
Devon
rose to her feet, picking up the radio, Taryll following suit, taking
the box and loose wrapping from her.
“Come
on in.” She encouraged, hand on the curling brass knob of the door,
“I won't be but a minute.”
A
gust of frosty air conditioning met the pair as Devon led Taryll into
the expansive front foyer, filled with those antiques he had seen
carried in so many years ago.
The
hall was cold, slightly dim and silent.
The
dimness was carried on in the rich woods and dark marble beneath
their feet.
The
boombox was placed on top of an inlaid sideboard and copying her,
Taryll set the books beside it.
She
repeated,
“I
won't be but a minute.”
Heels
clacking she was moving swiftly, away, Taryll watching her legs and
the skirt barely covering her backside as she advanced to the spiral
staircase at the end of the hall and jogged on up and from view,
leaving Taryll to crumple to his knees at his good fortune.
He
was going out with Devon.
He
was taking Devon out!
He
could scarcely believe it.
She
had liked his gift and even pecked his cheek which still burned
wickedly.
He
was going to sit and talk to her and be with her.
Dreams
did come true!
And
a dream was returning to him, as Devon, slipping on a red leather
backpack purse in the shape of a heart, all smiles.
“Could...”
Sweet
Merciful Lord!
Taryll's
mind screamed at him as her hand, so small, smooth and warm, slipped
into his.
She
was holding his hand!
“Could
we go to Pagliacci's?” She stared up at him inquisitively. “I
usually go there on my birthday. I love Italian foo--”
“Anything
you want.”
She
could have asked Taryll to drink all the water in Venice and he'd
have dove in with a straw, he was so happy and full of emotions and
awakening.
With
his free hand, he opened the door for her, and the pair started out
into the sunshine, crossing the street to take not her newest
acquisition, but Taryll's older Beemer.
It
may have been Devon's birthday, but it was Taryll who was
celebrating!
* *
*
“...when
the moon hits your eye...like a big ol' pizza pie...That's Amore....”
As
the sounds of Rat Packer Dean Martin's signature tune spilled from
hidden speakers stashed around the brightly lit, open-air dining room
of the rather upscale eatery, Taryll was peeking over the top of his
menu, and doing his best to conceal the shaking of his hands, by
clutching it tighter.
His
mind couldn't process it. He still couldn't wrap his bleached head
around it.
He
was actually out, on something that closely resembled a date, with
Devon Spencer.
She
was there, only a few feet from him, across the small, intimate round
table.
Looking
as angelic as ever, daintily nibbling on one of the complimentary
fried mozzarella sticks that overflowed from the huge basket between
them, lashes flicking as she stared down at her menu, opened on the
tabletop.
Was
she really there with him?
Were
they really together?
In
public, for all the world to see?
Taryll
reached for his glass of Coca Cola, sucking the liquid refreshment
through the straw, trying to steady his nerves.
He
stared at Devon again, taking in her fine features, noting how her
dark hair contrasted so sharply against her pale skin, how the
flaming red accents added to the allure.
His
brain was failing him, his heart taking the lead, along with other
parts of him, he was trying so desperately to hang onto some
semblance of control.
“You're
beautiful.”
Her
head remained lowered, but at the compliment, those pouty, crimson
lips curled, and he was certain he heard the lightest of giggles.
Running
the edge of the menu with her fingertip, Devon confided, her voice
raising a octave strangely,
“I
want to tell you something...but only if you promise not to laugh...”
“I'd...I'd
never laugh at you...” Taryll vowed, reaching to pick up a stick
for himself.
The
eyes sought him out, so clear and green and pure.
“I'm...”
She drew her words carefully. “I'm very happy you asked me out this
afternoon...Taryll.”
His
name took on all the elegance of poetry when it came out of her
mouth.
He
shifted in his seat, spine stiffening as she added,
“I've
wanted to...to talk to you for a very long time.”
His
heart!
His
heart was beating so fast!
“You
have?” He managed, his mouth dry and screaming for moisture,
hands trembling as he lifted his soda.
The
curly head bobbed.
“Yes...I
noticed you right after my Papa and I moved in. I saw you outside one
morning, waiting in your car to drive your brother to school. I
thought you were so cool and so handsome and I wanted to talk to you,
but...I...I was shy.”
Her
fingers tangled in her tresses twirling a lock thoughtfully.
Taryll,
on the other hand, genuinely gobsmacked by this revelation, sat in
stunned silence.
“...I
know TJ thinks I'm mean or conceited, because he'd try to talk to me
and I'd kind of walk away. I...I think TJ kind of liked me...but I
couldn't date him...since I like you...”
Her
hand clasped together and began wringing on the tabletop.
Taryll
was numb. She liked him? She liked him?
After
all this time?
Cheek
on fist, Devon was gazing across at him so dreamily.
“I
can't believe we're out together...is...is this a date?”
Taryll
nodded so hard his vertebra popped.
“Yes--”
“And
what are we?”
“Wh...what
do you want us to be?”
One
of the wringing hands was extended towards Taryll, and slowly, he
took hold of it.
Her
soft, little warm hand in his.
His
other hand mashed on it, holder her hand between his.
The
thick, arched brows furrowed, with Devon stating simply,
“Together.”
Taryll
lit all over like he was pure electricity.
His
head tilted, chest beginning to heave under his shirt, armpits
growing moist.
“I'm
not hungry anymore...are you?”
Teeth
flashed in that beautiful face, Devon shaking her head in the
negative.
And
Taryll was out of his chair, pulling hers out and helping her to her
feet.
She
was hardly on her feet before those sweet lips were on his earlobe.
“Take
me home...please,”
Fingers
intertwined and obediently, Taryll was being tugged after her.
Skipping
out on the bill.
He
didn't care.
God,
he just didn't care.
Devon
Spencer's bedroom was cool, dim and nothing at all like what Taryll
Jackson had imagined his little ingenue resting her head each and
every night.
For
a girl who painted her face in to resemble that of a long ago,
nineteen-fifties film star, Taryll had expected to see a room of
saccharine pink, with pin-ups from said era all over the place.
Elvis, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor...the likes of those sorts.
He
was only half-correct.
Devon's
room was rather and frankly feminine, not pink, but a pastel,
sunshine-y yellow, the walls covered in a dotted paper, with airy,
white-painted furniture and a huge cabinet packed with porcelain
dolls.
In
the center of the room, was a large, canopied bed, its brass frame,
white washed, frothing all over with buttery frills and lace-trimmed
pillows.
Scattered
about all of this overwhelming femininity and pristine...perfection
hearkening back decades which neither Taryll nor Devon had ever seen,
were pinups of musical artists of the day.
Brandy,
Aaliyah, Mary J. Blige, Babyface and Ginuwine to name a few.
No...she
was a modern girl with a touch of a vintage aesthetic.
Everything
Taryll had ever wanted and needed.
But
she was far away, so far away.
Taryll
lingered near the bed, hugging one of the metal posts, the gauzy
fabric draping it crinkling.
Devon
was several yards away, on the other end of the room, not more more
than an outline against the late evening sun, as she peeked out of
the window, silently.
Out
of the darkness, her voice reached his ears in questioning,
“...and...for
three years...you've been watching me...Taryll?”
An
audible gulp left him and he gripped the light fabric,
“Y-yes,
Devon...I couldn't help it. I...I just had to look at you. I...liked
everything about you--”
“Did
you know I could see you from my window?”
All
the moisture left Taryll's mouth and the color receded from his face,
leaving him a stark, ghastly white at the abrupt revelation.
“You-you
could?”
Devon
had seen him?
It
had never crossed his train of thought that she could have seen him
as clearly as he saw her.
“Yes...”
She continued to stare out. “I can see directly into your window
from mine...um...”
There
was that faint giggle again.
“...as...I'd
get ready in the morning...I'd look out and see you...”
His
mouth was so dry, his tongue was turning to dust.
And
then she asked a question that startled him,
“Do...you
sleep in the nude?”
“The...the
nude?” Taryll echoed, a hand grasping after his throat, eyes
widening as Devon began pacing towards him. “No...why?”
Her
perfume tickled his nostrils as she placed herself directly in front
of him, her head lowered.
“Well...”
She hesitated, tucking her hair behind tiny, seashell-like ears. “I
always pictured you that way...especially since you always were
wrapped up in your curtain.”
Dark
brows met the bleached hairline.
She
had been fantasizing about him?
She
had thought of him? Dreamed of him? Envisioned him certain ways?
He
clawed his throat harder, trying to control himself.
“You
did...look naked...to me...” Devon repeated and Taryll
scorched all over as her tender cheek pressed his.
Thin,
pale arms wrapped his middle and she was hugging herself to him.
Lips
were warm and loving on his cheek, and more as reaction than
realizing what he was doing, Taryll was embracing her tightly.
The
curled head bobbed with her leaning just far enough back to look
upwards at him.
She
was so soft and small in his arms. Taryll wanted to scream...and he
nearly did.
The
green eyes widened wickedly, with Devon telling, not asking,
“I
do want to see you naked.”
And
all the blood in his system emptied from his veins rushing to one
solitary appendage.
Thank
God his trousers were on the loose side or he'd have busted the
stitching on the fly straightaway!
“Devon...”
He mumbled in a mix of shock and disbelief, her cloud-like lips on
his cheek, leaving a red print with a soft smack. “...you...you
mean?”
“Yes...”
The word was hissed, with her leaving another print on his sharp jaw.
“I'm eighteen now...you're...you're three years older than me.
I...I had to wait. To be...to be old enough for you.”
Three
years!
Just
as Taryll had, Devon had been waiting the long, arduous three years
in tortured solitude.
A
gap, that, in the long run, would seem so small so insignificant so
unimportant had turned two lives on their ears for the same reason:
want and need.
Her
mouth now encompassed the cleft on his chin, sucking on it lightly,
sending chills up and down his spine to the point his physically
shook.
He
shook harder when he heard that innocent little voice beg,
“Can...can
I kiss you?”
The
blonde head barely bobbed before the dark one came up, their eyes
meeting for a fleeting second.
Her
mouth was even more pillowy than it looked, light and mild, tasting
oddly of strawberries as it pressed Taryll's slightly thinner one,
their lips starting off pecking at each other nervously, shyly, with
uncertainty.
However,
the pecks gave way to full-blown, overpowering, uncontrollable
kissing in only the vaguest of terms.
Wildly,
greedily, unrestrained, the two attacked each other, 'kisses' coming
out as smacks, sucks, gasps, cries and in one instance, a bite
that drew blood from Taryll's bottom lip.
Three
years had left the young pair full of unresolved, pent-up,
attention-seeking woes and finally, finally faced with one another,
there was nothing to stop them.
No
need.
Not
that Taryll would have stopped Devon.
He
was strung out on her instantly, the closest to an actual high he'd
ever been in his life.
Plus
all the blood that had rushed from his head left him a touch on the
loony side.
By
the time Taryll regained his bearings, he was aware that his green
and white tees had been pulled off, the cool breeze as provided by
the air conditioning encouraging goosebumps to rise off his bared
dermis.
And
he noticed Devon on her feet, staring at him strangely, one hand to
her bosom.
“What?”
He questioned, hoping that his trim body wasn't turning her off.
Did
she prefer more muscle-bound types?
“Up
close...you're even sexier.” She whispered in an awed voice.
A
voice that emboldened Taryll, forcing him to sit upright on the bed,
placing large hands on those barely there hips and pulling her to
him.
Drawing
her between his own legs, his stomach flapping as his breaths
increased with her standing over him, her perfume in his nostrils
again.
He
held her a long moment, and cherished the sensation of her hand
raking through his blonde curls, the air between them electric.
It
was then a new though crept into his fevered mind and eyes dropping
down to her shiny shoes, Taryll was barely audible in asking,
“Am...am
I your first?”
Her
hands were so warm as she cradled his face.
“No...”
She admitted unceremoniously. “...but I wish you were.”
His
heart was in his ears.
She
had wanted him to be her first! She wished he had been!
Blood
flooded Taryll's cheeks, as Devon put her hands up, casting the thin
straps of her dress aside, and allowing the denim jumper to fall from
her shoulders.
“Oh
God...”
Taryll
heard his own voice, but didn't register it, as the coarse blue
fabric fell from sight, leaving Devon standing in the off the
shoulder blouse—which he discovered was cropped, exposing her flat,
yet dimpled tummy, indentation of her belly button and a pair of
scarlet satin, high-cut panties.
Those
long legs shown off by the bowed stockings and heels quivered as
Devon moved from leg to the next.
And
Taryll was on his feet, standing over her, head down and staring at
the touch of cleavage as revealed by her top.
Her
silver bangles tinkled as they were discarded onto the carpet.
His
hands were gripping the striped fabric hugging her upper torso so
perfectly, and breathlessly, Taryll inquired,
“Does
this stretch?”
“Yes--”
Rather
than pulling the top up and over her head, Taryll instead pulled down
on it, making it drop to the floor much as her jumper had.
And
freeing her bosom, that even in the dimness of the bedroom was quite
visible given the way her milky, luminescent skin seemed to glow
almost unnaturally.
For
a long, silent moment, Taryll stared at Devon's bosom, as if he'd
never seen breasts before.
Of
course at the age of twenty-one, he had but...
He
had spent many cold-sweat drench nights imagining what Devon had
going on under her clothes, her shirts in particular, and even his
own dreams had failed him.
The
breasts were larger and more mature than he'd fathomed, hanging
proudly high up on her sternum and thrusting forward as Devon was
knowingly pushing them farther out at him.
Timidly
his hands came up to them, caressing the smooth flesh.
Dancing
over the fleshy pink nipples, going hard in the chilled atmosphere.
“Do
you like what you see?” Devon questioned, her hands overlapping
his.
“Do
I look good to you?”
“You're
perfect to me. Absolutely perfect.” Taryll confessed,
smooching her. “You're perfection, Baby.”
Baby...she
was his baby.
Those
green eyes danced.
“You're
perfect too.”
Her
lips were in the crook between his shoulder and neck, teeth gnawing
at the flesh, in what Taryll knew was an attempt to leave him with a
hickey.
But
Taryll wanted more than a hickey.
Much,
much more.
And
with less tact than a gnat, he blurted,
“I
want to fuck you!”
Mortified
by his own words, Taryll's hands clapped over his mouth, too late.
Rather
than a stinging slap to his jaw or a punch to his gut, as he
expected, Taryll was instead greeted by a mischievous smile.
Small
hands rubbed after his bronzed shoulders, Devon's pointed chin
resting on one long enough to inform him,
“Why
do you think I brought you up to my room, Taryll? To count the dots
on my wallpaper?”
She
started to lean back, taking note of how the bronze was becoming
maroon rapidly, and was against him again, adding,
“If
you wanted to count, there's exactly eleven thousand, five hundred
and eighty-six dots.”
Suddenly,
Taryll was left staring at space, something balled in his right hand.
He
glanced down at the mass, brow furrowing.
Red
satin panties.
Red
satin panties!
He
was holding the underwear, Devon had been wearing!
Whirling
on his heel, Taryll staggered, dropping the tiny piece of fabric.
Curled
atop the butter-colored duvet was Devon, the only clothing to be
spoken of still on her, were the bow-adorned socks and the red pumps.
Everything
else was delicate, smooth, dully shimmering skin.
Those
eyes on Taryll expectantly.
She
was looking to him expectantly. Waiting on him.
The
next move was his.
And
move Taryll did.
Kicking
his sneakers off and to the side, he loosened the fly on his cargo
pants, dropping them and flinging them somewhere underneath the bed,
he was left in his tighty-whities and socks.
Elastic
snapped and the white cotton fell away.
On
the bed, Devon was grinning broadly and devilishly, that big bosom
heaving in her excitement at the fact that...after three years...she
was seeing her dream man...in the buff.
The
tall, unmarked tanned form, the smooth, yet defined pecs and abs, the
long legs sprouting from rounded yet manly thighs.
Those
strong thighs framing the Forbidden Triangle, featuring a bush of
lovely, dark curls, more in key with Taryll's brows and his natural
hair color—alas, the curtains did not match the drapes—and from
it...
“Ah!”
Taryll
heard an audible gasp flow from those sweet red lips, observing those
green eyes start off meeting his, and slowly, very slowly, in that
searchlight manner, gliding down, deliberately to his pubic region.
And
the shaft, a compelling and arresting combination of not only being
close to a foot in length, but also as wide as a Coke can in it's
girth, showing a bit darker in its erection by comparison to the rest
of Taryll's golden complexion.
That
is, save for the rude pink tip as revealed as the stretching had
pulled his flap of foreskin back.
Devon
was staring at him, unashamed, unabashedly, taking in his entire,
bared body.
Minus
his feet, he left his socks on. He always did.
One
of those blue-topped fingers was wagging at him from the bed.
Waving
him on.
Signaling
him in for a landing.
And
it was a gesture Taryll gamely obeyed.
Rather
than rounding the bed to one of its sides, Taryll instead ventured
onto the bed, it's mattresses almost as firm as he, crawling upwards
and picking his way towards his prey.
Indeed,
his newly bleached mane, catching the few bits of light escaping
around the curtain, it glowed, and gave him the look of a sexy,
predatory lion on the prowl.
“Tee-hee-hee!”
There
was that elusive little giggle again, charming his ears, heightening
the passion he felt for the scant, slip of a body laying in wait for
him.
It
was here, nestled alongside his little nymph, that the fantasies
Taryll Jackson, began to fulfill themselves but in the most
unexpected of ways.
Yes,
that sweet, sensuous, perfumed body was pressed to his, warming his
already burning flesh.
Her
breaths were his breaths as she puffed into his face, those green
eyes glowing up at him, her alabaster skin flush to his caramel.
Devon
drew closer to him, and Taryll keened, his eyes never leaving hers,
but feeling her in other ways.
Primarily
her hand wrapping itself around his manhood, and slowly, just like
her eyes had scanned him, it began to go up and down, from the furred
base to the pink-hued tip.
“...do
you like that?” Her voice, that odd mix of both whispery and
high-pitched enticed him all the more.
“Yes,
Baby...yes...” He mumbled, those red lips seeking out his
peachy ones.
Her
mouth...her mouth.
Taryll
had always imagined Devon's mouth would taste like honey, and it
didn't.
No,
it was sweet alright, but a sharp, bright spearmint flavor.
Hazel
eyes rolled back in his head for a moment as Taryll, for the first
time in all of his twenty-one years knew what bliss truly was.
His
hands were tangled in those dark curls, pulling her face down on his
own, smacking wildly, his tongue slipping into her mouth with her
returning the favor and send waves through him.
All
the time, Devon continued pulling after him with one hand, the other
falling and curling around his dangling scrotum, kneading it ever so
lightly.
Lips
still locked, Taryll's hands slid from her hair, down over those slim
shoulders towards the pair of mounds hanging and banging into his
chest.
“Oooooh!”
Devon
cackled throwing her head back at his touch.
“You've
got the biggest tits I ever saw--” Taryll was speaking into the
mammaries, face lowering and starting to disappear into roundness,
tip of his tongue flicking over her perfumed skin, and tracing the
barely perceptible ridge where her areolas began all was so pale
colorless around him.
“They're
all yours...” She was raking her nails through his platinum locks
and grazing his scalp.
“If....if
you meant what you said.”
The
towhead jerked back, Taryll's eyes searching her face in questioning,
“What...what
did I say?”
His
eyes fell, observing her fingertip moving back and forth against his
deeper brown, right nipple.
“You
keep calling me 'Baby'...” Her head lowered and she was peering
through her lashes at him coyly. “Am I your Baby...or do you say
that to all the girls?”
She
was teasing him!
“There
are no other girls.” He pecked her forehead, draping his arms
around her hips.
“Only
you, Devon.”
She
kept on playing in his chest, adding,
“And
you really waited three years for me? Just for me?”
“Yes...I
did—ooof!.” Taryll nodded emphatically, and the room spun
a second with him being flung into the pillows on his back.
He
hands were so small and soft and warm as they gripped his shoulders,
her curls brushing his face and neck, Devon hovering, her face close.
“...and...”
Her eyes roved in the most becoming way. “...what did you plan to
do to me, once you got me?”
Taryll's
arched brows wiggled, “Something close to this—mmmmm!”
Devon's
mouth covered his, and as their lips worked with a gentle crushing
power, other parts of her were starting to cover him.
“You're
doing that...you're just gonna do that...” Taryll murmured
drunkenly, starting to slip in and out of a daze, brought on by
acute, total and complete excitement.
“Yes,
I am...” His hair was mussed a second time, Devon straddling him,
sitting directly at the base of his abdomen.
Feeling
her spread all over him, not yet on him, so warm and tender
and moist, and exuberant hum sounded loudly, causing her to laugh.
“Tee-hee-hee!”
She
was beautiful laughing, green eyes ablaze, scarlet mouth flashing
white teeth.
So
sexy, so adult, yet innocent in a way because of her doll-like
features.
She
was the Barbie to his Ken.
Tossing
her head back, her entire body was on display to Taryll.
All
her smooth flesh, the large bosom—how were those things even
natural?—the rounded thighs and the little shaved slit gaping
slightly, showing fresh pinkness to him.
She
was enjoying the sight of him as much as he was her.
The
slim, pale gold body, toned, but not overly so, giving him a refined
lean look to his physique.
The
angular face, the dimpled chin, those widened, roving hazel eyes,
that looked gold in some lights and nearly as green as hers in
others.
The
quaint little nose, above those lush, pouted, dusky-rose colored
lips.
The
smaller white hands intertwined with the larger, tanned ones, Devon
shifting her weight so that she was effectively pinning Taryll down
against the pillows and duvet.
“You
want all the control?” Taryll teased, enjoying the view, his entire
body applauding her.
“Yes...”
She hissed, and the joints of his wrists popped as Devon commenced
raising herself over him.
“Uggggggggggh!”
In
unison the pair groaned lustily, Devon seating herself directly on
top of that engorged appendage, stealthily, tentatively, sliding down
it, allowing its full length to force its way into her warm, wet
depths.
“Oh!”
A
second gasp left Devon. Yes she had been excited over how large
Taryll had looked to her.
He
had looked every inch of how she had imagined for all those years.
But
looking and feeling were two entirely different things
and she was quiet shocked by how her own body had had to dive in
every single direction in an effort to accommodate all of him.
He
was almost too big.
It
was too late. She was in too deep—as deeply as he was into her.
Her
lips brushed his, breaths sparking betwixt the two as somehow,
someway, Devon encouraged her hips to rock.
And
she was slowly and steadily building her pace as she began to grind
against him.
“Yes....yes....yes....oh....God...yes....shit!...”
Head
sinking further in the pillows, Taryll's light eyes rolled in
ecstasy, with him jerking a bit, but was unable to move his arms.
Well,
he could have, as Devon was petite and it would have been
nothing for him to overpower her.
But
it was a notion he cleared from his mind. He was all too happy to let
her run the show.
Be
her pawn.
“Oh!
Oh! Oh! Mmm! Hmm! Oh! Oh! OH! Tar...Taryll....” Devon gurgled,
taking his hands and bringing them up onto her pert globes,
goosebumps breaking out all over her as he caressed and kneaded them,
continuing to bounce on him.
“Yes,
Baby! Yes, girl! Ride it! Ride! Ride it—RIDE ME!” Taryll
ordered, regaining control of his senses and using the mattress
beneath his plump buttocks, throwing his hips to meet her every
stroke.
His
hands slipped from her breasts, her gripping onto his broad shoulders
for better leverage and were soon cupped around her slim buttocks,
forcing that little slit up and down his pole quicker and harder.
“Ah!
Ah! Ah! Ah!” Devon had the cutest little squeal, like the
smallest mouse of the bunch, coming out with each thrust. “Yes!
Oh, Taryll!”
He
loved the way his name sounded, coming out so breathlessly, through
her gritted teeth.
“Say...say
it again! Say my name!” He demanded and a burning slap was
delivered to her left buttock.
“Ow—Taryll!
Taryll!” Her head was back again, tits dancing so invitingly.
“TARYLL!”
Devon
fell forward onto him, allowing him to wrap his arms around her hips,
as her warm cheeks pressed his hotter one.
He
was more than aware of her digging into and clutching after the
pillows under his head, as, without a word, the control was shifted,
with Taryll starting to take charge.
That
feather-light voice was in his ear,
“Fuck
me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!Fuck me! Fuck me!Fuck me! Fuck me!Fuck
me! Fuck me!”
“Damn!
Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Yes, girl! Yes, Baby! Work it! Damn! You feel so good!
Devon! Oh God!”
Beads of perspiration, more so on
Taryll than Devon sprang up and dotted the two body like gems of
lust, causing them to sparkle all over.
Large hands ran the length of
Devon's spine, feeling each and every single vertebra, feeling her
every breath with each ramming of the rod.
It was so special, so intimate,
feeling her expanding and contracting around him.
Knowing she was all his—only
his.
And he was hers.
Taryll wanted to watch her. He
wanted to see her. Take in how that lovely little face contorted, the
cheeks reddening the nose scrunching up and those lips curled over
her teeth.
The way the thick brows bunched
together across her forehead.
He even liked the way she was
jostling his blonde head, her intermittent tugging on the pillow
underneath it becoming more regular the longer they persisted in this
lewd act of passion.
At the rate she was going, trying
to contain herself, she was going to shred the pillows and possibly
him in one fell swoop.
Then reality slapped Taryll in the
face, by way of a low, bubbling sensation that started off in his
balls and was swiftly moving towards the tip of his flopping shaft.
His eyes widened at the reddened
face next to his and he managed,
“I...I'm about to lose it.
Devon...I'm about to lose it!”
These green eyes were their most
feline, as they parted, with her staring at him with such a
penetrating glare, his lungs emptied of hair.
How could one person have him so
entranced, so wrapped up, so close to...to the edge?
Her tongue poked out a bit as she
dampened her lips, lips that barely moved as she told him,
“Lose it...I want you to lose
it all over me.”
“Hell!”
Taryll cried as that moist little
tongue traced his jawline, and circled his Adam's Apple.
Pop!
Pop! Pop!
Without any warning, the pair, the
sensation overwhelming and overpowering them at the very same time,
Pop!
Pop! Pop!
“Ah! Ah! AH!”
Taryll's face balled up, darkening several shades, sweat pouring
from his high forehead,
“Oh
no! Oh no! Oh no!—oh shit—Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!”
His hands were suddenly in his
hair, tearing at the flaxen tresses, a low, deep-pitched hum
resonating from his lips, pressed firmly in his consternation, as,
with a few, fleeting, final thrusts, his penis sprang from the base
of that milky torso, falling between them just in time for a streak
of molten whiteness to come flying from the purple tip.
“Aw!” Devon cried with
a titter as the streak flew and splattered along her flat abdomen and
the underside of her bosom, reaching down and wrapping her hands
around the meat, slowly going limp.
Stroking it to milk the last few
bits of lust from him.
“Hoo...ha...ha...oh....goddamn....”
Taryll panted, putting a hand to his wet chest, looking on earnestly,
as Devon ran her hand across her belly, promptly pushing the goo into
her mouth.
Above her hand, one eye was
winking at him.
“You like the taste of your
man?” He was struggling for his wind, but still fought to be flirty
and witty with her.
“Oh...” She was licking her
finger. “You're my man now?”
“Yeah...” A hand
wrapped her bicep and was pulling her down and to his side.
“I'm your man now, Devon...”
Impulsively she kissed at his
chin, arms wrapping and hugging him closer, the sunlight outside the
window starting to wane.
“Taryll...didn't you know?”
She questioned and he glanced at her, his heart rate quickening at
the emotion and concern flowing from her eyes at him.
She really was so very beautiful.
The most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.
“Know what?” He replied
absently, twisting a lock of her silky strands around his fingers.
Those green eyes were huge in her
face.
“You've been my man for three
years...just...let's call it 'long distance'. Tee-hee-hee!”
A kiss was planted in the center
of his chest, a red lip print being left behind.
“Long distance...” He echoed,
and pecked her forehead. “Well the gap between us has been closed.”
He squeezed her tighter.
“I never want to let you go, now
that I've got you.”
Her voice was a bare squeak in his
chest.
“I never want you to let go.”
