Chapter 24
I've always liked being passive in sex. Letting the other person do everything, serve me, put in the effort, while I just received. It was comfortable that way. I built it into myself over time, layer by layer—maybe out of laziness, maybe fear of screwing up, maybe because deep down I figured I didn't need to move to be desired. You might not like it, think it's selfish or cold, but it was my style. I liked being used, being the object of desire, staying almost still, letting the other person work until they were worn out.
With my brother it was different. And with some other people I'll talk about later too. In those situations, I turned into the active one. I set the pace, how much, how it went down. I'd sit on their face, jerk them off, grind until I came, give orders. It wasn't effort—it was control. And that turned me on more than anything.
His alarm went off suddenly, a shrill, annoying sound that cut through the heavy air in the room. He stretched out his arm to shut it off, mumbling low, and turned to me with that sly grin I knew so well.
"Nicole, we could just stay home fucking all day. What do you think?"
I laughed softly, still perched on the edge of his bed, legs spread, nightgown bunched up around my waist, body satisfied but already feeling the emptiness creep back in slow.
"No way, dude… You crazy? "
My sense of responsibility kicked in louder, or maybe it was just fear. "If they tell our parents we skipped school together, what would Mom think?"
My mom was a firecracker. She'd jump straight to incest without needing any proof. After all, it was in the Bible, so in her head it was a real possibility, common, almost expected in broken families like ours. Though in our case, it was true.
"Kid, you can't even handle one more. What are we gonna do here? Just stare at each other's faces?"
He tried to argue, voice rough from sleep and horniness, talking in that cocky way, promising he could handle it, that it was just one more round, but I was already good. Body light, pussy still sensitive and swollen, his taste in my mouth mixed with mine. I got up, straightened my nightgown, left his room without answering.
On the way to my room, an idea hit me. I stopped in the hallway, glanced at my dad's bathroom. Slipped in quietly, opened his drawer, rummaged for the electric trimmer—that one with interchangeable heads for trimming hair and shaving. I was really hairy. No matter how much I snipped with scissors, it looked messy, bulky, spilling over the edges of my panties at school, showing through loose jeans. My brother had commented once, joking, but the tone said he wasn't into it much. Fabiano probably didn't like it either, just didn't say. I needed to fix that. Not for them—for me. To feel cleaner, more in control.
I took the trimmer to my bathroom. Slipped off the nightgown, stood naked in front of the big mirror. Turned it on—low hum, smell of warm plastic—checked if it was clean and charged. Started with the excess: cut it real short, as close as I could without touching skin. The hairs fell to the floor, black and thick, piling up in a little heap. Then I tried shaping it, leaving just a thin strip on my mound, trimming the sides of my outer lips, exposing more skin. The motor's buzz against my skin gave me chills, cool air hitting where the hair used to be. I looked in the mirror and liked it. My pussy looked more bare, more open, swollen pink lips showing better, clit more out there. I dug it.
I wanted to use the blade on my outer lips to make it smooth, but I was scared shitless of nicking that thin skin and cutting myself bad. No way. Wax? Hell no. I didn't even know how to use those strips, and going to a salon was out of the question. If my mom found out I'd gone to get my pussy waxed, it'd be a blowup till kingdom come. "That's slut shit," she'd say, voice shaking with anger and disappointment.
From the hallway I could hear my brother griping about something, his voice echoing through the empty apartment.
"Nicole, that math book from two years ago, the one with the answers, did you leave it here or at Mom's?"
"At Mom's! "
I yelled back, still in the bathroom, trimmer in hand. "Why the hell would I have that here?"
"I didn't do the damn homework and now I'm screwed! "
His voice got louder as he got closer, quick steps on the floor.
Obviously he wanted to copy the homework I'd done when I was in his grade.
Suddenly he appeared at the bathroom door, knocking twice with his knuckles, impatient. I was naked, black hairs scattered on the shower floor like I'd sheared a poodle. I glanced around quick—nothing there he hadn't already seen, licked, sniffed. I flushed out of reflex and opened the door.
He came in without a second thought, eyes going straight to my body. I arched my pussy forward, showing off the work, like displaying a painting on the wall.
"Fuck, help me quick with this? I'll ditch first period and finish it. "
He said while staring at a notebook with a blank page.
"Okay, I'll do it for you, big head! "
I agreed right away, impatient, but already feeling the heat rise again just seeing him there, close, looking.
He dropped down in front of me, no hesitation. His face was inches from my freshly trimmed skin. He looked… looked again. Tilted his head one way, then the other, like appraising an expensive painting. Long silence. I felt his hot breath hitting my outer lips straight on, giving me goosebumps everywhere. My clit, still sensitive from what we'd done earlier, twitched on its own from the closeness.
He leaned in closer, almost brushing his nose. He pinched some long strands that the trimmer missed—black, thick, stubborn—and tugged lightly, no pain.
"It's way better than before, "
He said finally, voice low, almost thoughtful, "but it's crooked and full of pubes you didn't get."