Author: Strae PM
After one horny night alone with a webcam, Edward enters a surprisingly intimate friendship with a stranger online. He someday plans to meet this 'Jazz' girl he's become so oddly enraptured with; too bad Jazz isn't exactly a 'girl'.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Humor - Edward & Jasper - Chapters: 12 - Words: 73,750 - Reviews: 1,599 - Favs: 1,055 - Follows: 1,346 - Updated: 09-10-11 - Published: 08-12-10 - id: 6230613
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Jasper's fucking beautiful when he's on his knees, I swear.
Without the hindrance of a noticeable gag reflex, he gradually takes me all the way to the back of his throat and holds me there, letting me revel in the sensual feel of wet, delicious heat. His wide blue eyes wander up to my face, and he grins at me, despite having his mouth fully stuffed with my cock.
I can't repeat it enough. He's beautiful.
My fingers trace over his hollowed cheeks and I resist the urge to shift my hips. Jasper loves playing games with me, and this is probably going to be another one. How slow can he go without me giving him shit for it?
His eyes eventually flutter closed, and he tongues along the bottom side of my shaft as he pulls back just a few inches. Several seconds later, I'm thoroughly greeting his throat again.
But that's the last of it.
I groan and twist my fingers into his hair. He's knowingly torturing me with all this deliberate pausing, and he probably won't let me cum this way, but fuck if I don't love him for being such a tease. A slow, hot, wet blowjob has got to be the greatest torture in the world.
When we'd entered my room, Jasper had hardly given me a moment's notice before he was locking the door and tugging my clothes off. My shirt was flung somewhere, I think, and my pants have long since fallen down to my ankles. While my tailbone is pressed to my bedroom's dresser, Jazz is kneeling before me, still clothed while his left hand is shoved down his unbuttoned pants to stroke himself.
Such a good multitasker, he is.
His other hand covers my lips to muffle the occasional loud groan, seeing as my parents are home and we're just upstairs, and we really shouldn't get caught doing this. But rather than keep his hand there, I take two of his long fingers into my mouth, sucking them down to the knuckle at the same unbearably slow pace he's using. He moans around my cock and withdraws his wet fingers before I can tease him anymore.
It doesn't surprise me when a fingertip slips between my ass cheeks, touching the spot that I know has been tantalizing him all this time. He ignores my hiss of mild discomfort and presses through until his whole finger is inside me.
It's always the first finger that makes me tense. I used to be a mess at the mere thought of him penetrating me, and I've told Jasper once before to leave my ass alone until I'm mentally prepared for him. Those wimpy words had finally pushed Jasper to his breaking point, however, as he promptly bent me over his couch and made me get over that 'scaredy-cat, cop-out bullshit'. He didn't let me back up until he was able to easily fuck me with two fingers.
I didn't struggle.
Suffice it to say, fingering doesn't make me nervous anymore. Now it's just the initial intrusion that makes me stiffen, but after that, after he's coaxed my muscles to relax, it's alright. So alright.
I lean back further on the dresser and spread my knees apart. The hand that had been in his pants is suddenly at my thigh, and he lifts it, setting that leg over his shoulder.
A prickle of curiosity excites me as he does this, but he doesn't do anything new. His finger slides in and out of me, massaging the firm muscles there and getting them reacquainted with his touch.
A sigh escapes me as his second wet finger eases inside, the stinging feeling being nothing compared to the feelings yet to come. I have actually felt pleasure from this—it's nothing unbelievably extraordinary, but the raw sensitivity of all those nerves is staggering. I can see why Jasper didn't completely oppose bottoming even when it isn't his cup of tea.
The best part is that Jasper knows exactly what he's doing. There's a spot inside me that he's touched once, and if his fingers sink in as far as they can go, and he presses in just the right way, I can feel it. It's as sensitive as my cock and ten times as desperate for his touch.
He brushes it now with just the tips of his fingers. My toes curl and I dig my heel into his back, and he smirks again, pressing those lips to the base of my cock as his fingers locate the same spot and press up firmly.
A shudder rocks me and I gasp words of encouragement. My hands automatically pet his hair as he continues to apply pressure there, and it feels so fucking great, especially when his hot mouth envelops my tip again. His fingers are practically stabbing that spot. Why the fuck does that feel so good?
Jasper prefers gentle, stroking touches, but he's figured out that more pressure equals more pleasure for me. I moan through my teeth and my hands twitch, resisting the urge to push his mouth further down on my dick. My patience is quickly beginning to wear thin.
He eases off at the sound, his tongue swiping around the head, still lightly prodding his fingers inside me. My balls tighten and I briefly wonder if it's possible to cum just like this, with his fingers in me, his mouth doing next to nothing.
I'm not able to find out. Jazz completely stops what he's doing and stands up before I have time to react. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me off of the dresser and leads me to the bed.
Still addled by lust, I attempt to sit down, unsure of what he's planning to do to me next. But he fucking spanks my ass hard and orders me to get into the doggy-style position instead.
Quickly shedding the rest of my clothes, I obey and rest on my elbows and knees, letting my now unattended cock hang down between my legs. Jasper retrieves my bottle of lubricant and sets it on a pillow beside my face.
I twist my head around to watch him casually strip his t-shirt and jeans off. He palms himself through his boxers a few times before finally removing his underwear as well.
Jasper continues to pump his hard cock almost lazily as he examines my ass that's propped up in the air, just for him. He licks his lips and grabs the lube, then settles onto the bed behind me.
Oh, shit. He's finally going to fuck me.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip as his fingers gently pry apart my cheeks. It's so bizarrely intimate to have him look at me there, and I should probably feel bashful about it, but I'm not. I want him there.
"I love you," I breathe as a fingertip brushes a line between my cheeks. "You're going to fuck me now, aren't you?"
He chuckles deeply. "Mm. Want me to?"
Right then he pushes the thick, blunt head of his cock against me. I moan and grind back against him, simultaneously burrowing my face down into my pillow. "I want you to," I groan into it. "Please, Jazz."
He swears under his breath.
"You don't know how much I want to, Edward..."
His hands slide smoothly over my lower back and curl around my sides, pulling me to him until his cock is shoved fully against me, his hips pinned to my ass. I wonder so much what Jasper will feel like when he's finally inside me. How far in will he reach? How full will he make me feel?
"I love you, too," Jasper finally says. "But with that being said... No, I'm not gonna fuck you yet."
I flip myself over in zero-point-five seconds to give him a scathing glare.
"Why the fuck not, Jazz?"
Jasper's lips curl up in amusement and he leans forward, urging me down into a supine position. Reluctantly, I let him kiss my mouth, despite being somewhat pissed that he's now the one circumventing.
I thought we were inching past that crap.
"Turn over," he murmurs after leaving another kiss on my chin. "I said I want you doggy-style. I'm not gonna say it again."
He still wants to do something to me in that position. I'm sure it concerns my derriere, and the probing of said body part. Waiting for a sign of his next move, I flip back onto my knees and elbows, still eying him cautiously. I have no idea what he wants from me if he isn't going to be inserting himself in me.
I kinda wish he would.
I bite my lip again when his open mouth touches the middle of my spine. He leans over me and presses his lips to my back, leaving a trail of warm kisses as he inches lower. Jasper hesitates when he reaches the swell of my ass, and briefly, I wonder if he wants to put his mouth on me there, too.
I kinda wish he would.
The hours upon hours of shameless gay porn I've been watching have obviously gotten to me.
After a decisive moment, Jasper kisses one cheek and then pulls away completely. His hand pats my other ass cheek praisingly, like one would do to a dog's head. Good boy.
"Remember, I love you," he reminds me.
As if I'd forget.
"'Kay," I mutter, shifting my butt under the hand that has yet to pull away. He squeezes that cheek firmly, twice, before letting go.
"But don't turn around, Edward. I have a surprise for you."
"What is it?"
"A surprise, dumbshit."
Extremely curious now, my first impulse is to turn around. I resist the urge and ball up a pillow to rest my chin on, staring at my headboard while he begins to prepare his 'surprise'. I figure I should stop questioning his intentions at this point and just go with it.
He steps off of the bed, and a moment later I hear a familiar unzipping sound. I suspect it's from his overnight bag that I thought he'd only packed with clothes.
Now I'm not so sure.
Unless... he is showing me clothes as a surprise? A short-term girlfriend of mine had done such a thing once, surprising me by wearing lacy little red things one could scarcely call undergarments. Scandalously, I envision Jasper donning something similar—a red, tight, lacy thong that does nothing to hide the massive erection laying swollen across his hip.
Ugh, no. I can just imagine him doing playful pelvic thrusts in that, his dick flopping every which way, and I have to chomp down on my cheek to get the appalling image out of my head.
Jasper places something on the bed near my legs, then starts to silently search my room for something else.
This waiting time feels similar to the slow, wet torture he enjoyed inflicting on me earlier, making me hold out for the good part, seeing how long my patience lasts. But this... this isn't pleasurable torture anymore. This is horrific, filled with questions of whether I'd ever enjoy seeing Jasper in lace, how Jasper is going to torment me next, and what in the world did he just set next to me?
I fake a stretch to nosily nudge the object with my foot, then realize it's a smallish box of some sort. Not clothes. Not lace.
With a sigh of relief, I begin to stroke my almost-forgotten friend in the meantime. The promise of no man-lingerie brings my cock back from near death.
After almost a minute of him silently rummaging through my room—I'm just playing with myself at this point—he speaks.
"Okay, fuck it. Where is your webcam?"
Surprise immediately washes over me, but a coil of arousal tightens in my gut, knowing why he wants my webcam. He wants to put on a show for others, with me in this position, so easily penetrable...
Really, I know as well as anybody that those viewers would love to see little ol' virginal Edward get fingered to orgasm for the first time. It'd be embarrassing for me, and awkward, but fuck does it sound like a thrillingly kinky idea.
And while neither one of us is kinky, exactly, we both know the pleasures of having an appreciative audience.
Assuming the secret is ruined, I slowly turn over and take in Jasper's appearance. He looks appropriately disappointed for ruining the fun, but... he's nude, and aroused still. His physique is, as always, enough to make me lose any words I'd had prepared.
"I was hoping it'd be a good surprise," he explains nervously at my silence.
A smile pulls at my lips at the sight of his uneasiness. Does he really think I could be upset by the idea of being on camera? That ship sailed a long time ago.
"I've been on webcam many times before, though, Jazz," I remind him reassuringly. "You could ask me to turn the camera on anytime and I wouldn't object. You know that."
He scratches at the back of his neck.
"Ah, well... That's not everything, Edward."
With slow, deliberate steps, Jasper walks to the bed and picks up the box he'd placed there. It's unlabeled, and significantly wider than it is long; still small enough to be easily tucked in his bag. I wonder what could fit inside such a thing.
As if sensing my unsaid question, he opens it and shows me.
Not once did I consider him using his favorite vibrator on me.
I should have considered it.
God, I should have considered it, and I should have begged him to do this to me sooner.
I don't know where the webcam is anymore, or the laptop, or Jasper; all of my focus is concentrated on my prostate, where Jasper is pressing the head of the fake cock against me.
The pleasure is literally fucking blinding, numbing all of my other senses. Each vibration it gives off is like a miniature, personal earthquake, shaking me down to my core until I'm utterly disoriented, losing my grasp on everything around me. Every part of me clenches sporadically at the myriad of sensations; my stomach, my fists, my jaw, my ass, everything tightens as I try to control myself, prevent myself from pressing back against the dildo that's halfway inside me.
I want it deeper.
I want the real thing.
But, fuck, I don't want him to move an inch.
My leg spasms beneath me—it's a struggle just to stay on all fours. My breath is labored, my voice too rough. Sweat and precum are both dripping off of me and I don't care. This feels too fucking good to care.
He slips the vibrator away from that spot and pushes it all the way in, its whole length of six inches, and I can feel it all, so deep inside. I moan his name loudly and squeeze my cock, no longer even having to stroke it to feel the intensity.
"Shh," Jasper tries to quiet me, and for a second, I halfheartedly try to listen. But then he moves the vibrator out and back in, and the pleasure is back at full force, and I can't shut up.
I shake and shudder as he pushes the vibrator all the way inside. The fiercely sharp burn still lingers in the background, and I can feel my muscles resisting, but the vibrations are resounding so much deeper that the pain feels almost trivial in comparison.
"Everyone adores you," Jasper says, calling attention to the fact that we have an online audience. "What a needy, greedy bottom, they're saying. They all want me to fuck you. You want that, too, don't you?"
I can only grunt an affirmation.
As my hand jerks my cock a bit, I can't help but push back against the vibrator, wanting to feel something more, deeper inside of me. I never would have imagined myself feeling this way; I knew bottoming could feel alright for some, and I'd felt the slight sensations of those nerves before, but I'd never imagined they could be so powerful.
Everything is amplified because he's using a vibrator. The real thing won't feel this way. A part of me sincerely hopes that is true, because if it always felt this good I probably would become a so-called needy, greedy, 'cock-hungry bottom for life'.
His words, not mine.
"When I bottom..." I begin to ask breathlessly. I watch as another bead of sweat drips off of my face and take a deep breath. "When I bottom, will it feel this good?"
He barks a laugh suddenly, but it's not because of me.
Jasper pulls the vibrator out slowly, humming at the sound of my resulting whimper. He turns it off and sets it on the towel spread beneath me. Thankfully he was thoughtful enough to think that far ahead, knowing I could potentially cum all over my bed this way.
The keys on my laptop clack jerkily as he types something to our viewers, probably to the one that made him laugh. I try not to feel jealous that he's replying to them first, or that our audience holds a portion of his attention while he's doing this to me.
"Maybe not," he answers me after just a few seconds. "Bottoming will feel very different from this. You can't really compare the two."
Rather than return to the vibrator, he reaches between my legs to replace my hand with his. As soon as he grips my cock, I turn my body over to lie on my back, ignoring his pointed look of protest.
"How so?" I ask, single-handedly wrapping the dildo in the towel and shoving it aside. Despite how awesome the assplay was, a handjob is the more logical solution for making me cum. I want to fucking cum already, I've been teased and frustrated for almost an hour now.
There's only so much a man can take, dammit.
Protesting my actions again, he takes the vibrator out from the towel and repositions it between my legs. With his other hand still wrapped around me, he begins to ease it inside, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from cursing at the sting it revives.
But, oh, do I still love the feel of it.
His fist strokes up just as he pushes the fake penis in further, centimeter by centimeter until the flared end is resting against my skin. "My dick may not be able to vibrate," he says, tilting the hard object upward until the tip of it is poking me wonderfully, somewhere far inside. "But I can go a lot deeper."
He turns the vibrator on.
"Oh, fuck," I moan, trying to resist the urge to arch upward. My eyes squeeze shut automatically at the feel of those lovely vibrations. Not three seconds later, his lips are around my cock, his tongue licking a thick line of precum from it.
Jasper lessens the tilt of the vibrator and withdraws it until only the tip of it is inside. When he sinks it back in, I can't resist the urge to buck into his mouth and groan and groan and groan.
I think at one point I begin to babble, begging him to fuck me harder, and suck me harder, and please, please don't stop doing that thing with your tongue.
He stops anyway, because he's being a complete douchebag today. I push his hair away from his face with my fingers and scratch his scalp lovingly, because even if he is a douchebag, he's my douchebag. And he looks far too happy between my legs.
The shut-off vibrator is removed, and I squirm a little, still entirely too sensitive. Jazz wraps it in the towel and dumps them both off the side of the bed.
Hadn't I done that earlier? I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him, knowing he's making everything go his way today. That's rather uncharacteristic from what I've seen of him; he'd been such a pushover before. It makes me kind of glad that he's changed, that he isn't so unobtrusive around me now that we're official.
A month of being together will do that.
He's better this way. Braver.
When he crawls over top of me, I can't help but smile weakly, kind of embarrassed once the fog of lust has cleared slightly. My dick is still rock hard, and I haven't orgasmed yet, but somehow I feel sated by him nonetheless.
I'm sated with the knowledge that I'm not restricted to being a top. Jasper and I will really have a chance at being together, without me being an insecure, inflexible little bitch about trying new things. Without him having to compromise so much.
He hovers over me with one elbow resting beside my ribcage, curling his other hand around my hip. "Not so much of a top now, huh?" he teases, nudging his nose against mine.
"You're torturing me," I complain. I kiss him though, just a little bit, and he sighs against my mouth. "And your fat ass is blocking the webcam."
Purely for emphasis, I grab a handful of said ass.
He smiles. "Lucky them, I guess."
His hips grind into mine a bit, making my cock rub against his stomach and vice versa. The hand at my hip slides down to my outer thigh and he hitches that leg up around his own.
In my mind, that action strikes me as something only a guy would do to a girl, something that makes me want to recoil. But when Jasper does it, it brings our hips closer. It helps the angle of his rutting against me so the friction feels better for us both.
I think perhaps being treated like the girl isn't as bad as I'd thought—he's not treating me as one, anyway, he's only treating me as his lover.
When I think of it like that, many of those insecurities dissipate like smoke from between my fingers. Maybe next time I won't be so distraught when he lies behind me, spooning me. Maybe I won't have a worry in the world when he finally does decide to make love to me.
Jasper's hips slowly lull their movement and he pulls back just enough to look at my face.
"I'm glad you were so receptive today," he says. The hand on my thigh returns to my hipbone and he glances down between us. "Did I hurt you earlier, with the vibrator?"
Not sure, I shift a little beneath him. There's a mild ache that hasn't yet gone away, but it's not so much pain as it is soreness. My ass simply isn't used to getting so much attention.
"I'm just a little sore," I tell him truthfully. My arms curl up around his torso and I urge him to lie down against me, just like this. "Nothing too bad. Don't worry."
Jasper allows most of his weight rest over me. The look and feel and smell of him so close is intoxicating, and I realize I've never really been in this position before. I like that he's the only person who has seen these pieces of me. I feel like a different person when he's here.
"You're going to be so tight," he whispers, ducking his head down to kiss beneath my ear. His hips rub seductively against mine, and my fingers dig into the smooth slope of his back, wordlessly asking for him to thrust harder. Let me cum, please.
He kisses my cheek. "I promise, I'll be inside you in due time."
But all too soon, our private bubble is popped. There's a series of thumps that come from another part of the house, and Jasper freezes, probably not recognizing what it is. I've run up and down the stairs in the hall enough to tell when someone's bolting up them.
The sound confuses me, though, because the only other people home are my parents, and they aren't exactly the type to bolt.
A couple seconds later, there's an quiet yet urgent rap of knuckles on my door.
Then I remember we're both buck-ass naked. And we can't quite answer the door like this.
"Shit!" I whisper-yell at Jasper, sitting upright as fast as I can. He rears back and stumbles off of the bed before I'm able to, picking up whatever clothes of mine he finds and throwing them at me. I pull a t-shirt over my head, then panic further when I realize it's turned inside out.
"The door's locked," Jasper whispers when my eyes dart to the door again, half-expecting to see a parent barge inside and catch us both pantsless. With the fear of being caught red-handed, I've lost my voice, and I don't call out to whoever is in the hall.
"Shit," I whine to myself, crawling out of bed to pull my boxers and pants on. I have to stuff my painful hard-on into my jeans, and it doesn't look like it will want to return to being flaccid anytime soon. After an hour of teasing I know it won't.
I'm surprised when that person doesn't knock again. Several moments later, though, as soon as we've hastily pulled on most of our clothes, I hear a softer creak of the staircase, and a firmer knock on the door.
"Boys," my mother hollers all too cheerfully, "din-din's ready!"
The doorknob jiggles a bit as she attempts to enter, but stops once she realizes it's locked.
"Jasper, honey, you aren't vegetarian, are you?" she calls through the door.
Jasper looks like he could throw up. I'm sure I don't look any better, and I'm so fucking glad he pays attention to shit like locking the door behind us. I probably wouldn't have remembered to do that step.
With one hand tugging at his hair, he swallows nervously and replies, "No, ma'am."
"We'll be down in a few," I tell her. My voice is still gravelly, but I hope she doesn't notice.
"Okay!" she yells loudly through our paper-thin walls. And then she leaves.
I'm a little mortified to think that they may have easily heard something, what with all the loud moaning noises coming from my room earlier. Shaking my nerves away, I zip up my pants and clean up as fast as I can, shoving my bottle of lube in a dresser drawer, kicking the towel-wrapped vibrator under the bed. I slam the laptop shut once I realize the camera's still been running. Our viewers are probably laughing their asses off at us.
Once we're dressed, Jasper stops me from opening the door and pulls me into my bathroom first. I'm still a little damp with perspiration and flushed in the cheeks from all that non-sex; I even look like I've been teetering on the edge of an orgasm for an hour. Jasper dabs at my cheeks with some cold, wet tissue, trying to get the heat out of my skin. I run my fingers through his hair and attempt to straighten it back to normal.
And, of course, we wash our hands. Jasper chastises me for forgetting to do that, and I flush harder, thinking about where his hands have been today.
After that we only have to wait for my boner to go away. I rest my forehead against a wall and wait a few minutes longer, thinking only about the very unprovocative barbecue brisket Mom's been cooking, waiting until my dick's fifty-one percent deflated to leave. When I look presentable, I take Jasper's squeaky clean hand in mine, and we exit the room.
We're stopped abruptly in the hallway, though, and I just about shit myself and drop his hand like it's on fire.
"Edward," my father says, lingering in the hallway in front of my room as if it's quite normal to stand there. "Please keep your door open while you have guests over."
Okay, so... he knows we were fooling around, then? Odd that I don't get the urge to projectile vomit like I thought I would've at that information.
But then I wonder if my mom's heard anything, and the nauseousness bubbles up inside me at the thought. That would be dreadful. I hope, desperately hope she's still in the dark, deluding herself if need be.
But why my father would want my door open, I'm not completely sure—when I was in high school, he was the coolest type of dad, one that would turn a blind eye when I brought a girl up to my room. He bought me condoms and shit and I never had to leave the door open then.
So why the fuck does he care now, when I'm with a boy?
"Why?" I ask him a tad bit too defensively. "Dad, I'm an adult."
He shakes his head, and his mouth tightens as if he's tasted something sour. It isn't an expression he makes often. "You don't act like one most of the time, son. Live in your own house if you want to behave like an adult. I don't want that sort of thing going on in mine."
That sort of thing. He accentuates each word, like the thought of what we could possibly be doing in my room disgusts him.
"What 'sort of thing'?" I ask, this time bordering on angry. He shakes his head again and moves to walk past us, but I shove him back into the wall to stop him, suddenly pissed off. "Hey!" I whisper as loudly as I dare. "What the fuck, Dad? I thought you were okay with this."
Jasper's hand closes over my fingers that are wrapped in my father's button-up shirt. He pries them off of him, then lets our arms hang down between us, his warm hand forcefully locking mine in place.
I don't struggle.
"Stop, Edward," Jasper tells me quietly, gently squeezing my fingers. The familiarity of his touch calms me a little, just enough to make me let go of the majority of my anger. Now I just feel hurt, and upset that my father wasn't as understanding as he'd appeared to be.
Was understanding too much to ask him for? Really?
My father stares at me, wide-eyed with surprise, like he can't believe I would dare to grab him like that. As far as I can remember, I never have. I'm not that type.
His eyes lower to where Jasper's hand is wrapped around mine. I don't know why—perhaps to add fuel to the fire, or to rub salt in his wounds—I open my hand and twine my fingers with each of Jasper's, holding him to me.
That action says everything there is to be said.
My father's gaze lingers on both of us for a moment, but then he turns his head to look down the hall, to the staircase. His sour expression twists into a stone-faced one, and I can't tell what he's thinking anymore, looking away from me like that.
The little boy in me wants to pull his attention back. I want to throw a tantrum and make him look at me, pay attention to me, talk to me, but Jazz tightens his hand around my own again and I can do nothing. I do nothing but watch him, fearing what he might say next.
"Sir," Jasper starts.
"Your mother was wondering why you're always upstairs with him, with your door locked," Dad says, turning his head back to look at us. "She thought you may have been smoking pot or something. Thought maybe Jasper was a bad influence."
His eyes slide over to Jasper, whose grip has slackened at his voice. "I told her she'd be able to smell it on you if you were. She raised you too well for that."
Marijuana? Is that all Mom's worried about?
I want to breathe a sigh of relief at knowing my mom is still ignorant of my big secret, despite how transparent I've behaved these past months. But I'm not relieved, because I don't know where my dad is going with this.
"You're lucky I was able to give you a warning knock, before she came up here and heard something she shouldn't have."
His words suddenly make sense, and realization blankets me thickly. It isn't a pleasant feeling.
Carlisle must have been the one who had bolted up the staircase. He was the one who knocked softly, just before my mother came up the stairs and knocked herself.
He was alerting us to danger. Making sure we were quiet.
The thought of my father going out of his way to keep my secret safe is... just like him, actually. My tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth, and I'm too shocked to thank him at first. Guilt swirls through me for doubting him before, when he has been so understanding, so inordinately cool about my sexuality.
He really doesn't give a fuck about it. He just wants me to be happy.
"Thank you," I whisper with my head down, finally comprehending why he doesn't like having Jasper here. It has nothing to do with him—it's only for my best interests.
My father sighs and lifts his hand up, as if to set it on my shoulder. He draws it back before it makes contact.
"I'm not going to cover for you again," he says, attempting to sound stern. "Don't do anything here and she won't find out."
Unable to do anything else, I nod.
Dad straightens his back, and the collar of his shirt, then slips past me. He glances back once to look at Jasper and then disappears down the staircase.
I'm not sure how long I stare after him, but Jasper eventually pulls me from my trance by resting his other hand on my cheek. When I look at him, he steps close and kisses my lips once, then rests his forehead against mine.
"Don't fight him," Jasper whispers. "Whatever happens... No matter what, do not start a fight about this."
I want to curl my arm around his waist and hold him tightly against me, put my face into the safe haven of his neck. I don't. Not here.
"He's right, Jazz. We'll get caught like this."
Gently, I separate my fingers from his and step back, letting Jasper's other hand slip off of my face. He exhales slowly and rubs the nape of his neck, appearing to think to himself for a moment.
"Why do you still live with them?" he asks.
I don't know how to answer him, because honestly... I don't know.
Dinner's flow of conversation is stifled, at best. The brisket Mom had spent so long making is surely flavorful and moist, but it may as well have been tasteless and dry for how much I'm paying attention to it.
The guilty feeling slowly seeps in from all sides. A part of me wants to tell my mom already, to stop lying by omission. I know she cares about me more than herself, and she deserves to know the truth, even if it could break her heart. I wonder how the conversation would go if I told her here, with Jasper beside me and my father at my defense. Maybe it'd turn out alright.
Mom, I'm in love with a boy.
I love him.
Another part of me wishes I could hide it forever, but I know that that is impractical. Impossible.
Jasper is the only guest of mine who has stayed over for dinner, or for the night, since college. I'm sure my mother knows he's important to me, with how often he's around. But she has no idea just how much.
"So, what do you do for a living, Jasper?" she asks him at one point. His gaze rises from his plate to her face, where she's smiling at him in that motherly way. "I'm sure you know Edward hasn't found a decent job yet, so I'm wondering. Are you two are in the same field?"
I glare at her.
At least I've found a fucking job. It's not quite what I'd aspired for, yes, but it's good money while I keep searching for the perfect one. It isn't for lack of trying.
"Ah," Jasper says, setting his fork down on his plate. I don't know why he's insistent on using only a fork in front of them; my father and I are both using our fingers, too. It's fucking barbecue, dude, not French cuisine. My mother really doesn't care.
"Right now I'm just a waiter," he answers her. "Living day by day, and all that."
She gives him a curious look, and I can tell he's intrigued her. "You seem like a smart young man. Did you ever go to college, university...?"
I look down at my plate at the same time Jasper does, knowing his answer.
Education was a sensitive topic for him, the few times it had been brought up between us. All I really know is that he finished high school and then moved out to live on his own. I'd never pushed for more answers, but... I know it's not the easiest thing to ask him about.
"I did not," he says. There's a moment of silence, and then he exhales a little too loudly, shifting in his seat. "I just... I didn't have the opportunity to do anything like that."
"Oh," my mother says quietly. "I'm sorry."
My chest hurts at Jasper's words. There's a tinge of grief to them, like he wishes he could have done more, but couldn't.
My dad is the next one to speak.
"Was your family financially challenged?" he asks bluntly through a mouthful of meat.
I give him a far dirtier glare at that, but he ignores me.
"Um, not really. My mom was able to scrounge up enough for a standard tuition for me, but..." Jasper fidgets a little before picking up his fork again, using it to poke at the scraps of food on his plate. "In the end, I didn't go."
I turn to Jasper, taking in the sight of him with his eyes lowered, his face showing strangely little emotion. His body language is what gives him away, though. I'm not sure why the mention of college affects him so deeply, but he's upset, and I wish I could comfort him.
I clean my fingers off with a napkin and rest my left hand in my lap, eating only with my right hand. After a moment, I slip my hand between our side-by-side chairs, just far enough to touch his thigh with the tips of my fingers.
Jasper doesn't look at me, but his expression relaxes and he straightens up in his seat. He returns to eating the last of what's on his plate, his head turned slightly toward me. I realize I've been staring too long and look away.
"Well, why not?" my father presses.
"Dad," I finally exclaim. Fuck, can't he take a hint for once? For such a nice guy, he's really fucking dense sometimes.
"My mom and I weren't on the same page about some things," is all Jasper reluctantly explains. Abruptly, he rises to stand, forcing a smile at my mother. "That was delicious, Mrs. Cullen. Thank you."
Warily, I rise up from my seat to join him. "Yeah, I'm done, too. May we be excused?"
"Sure," says Mom. She stares at Jasper, ever curious as he downs the last of his beer in one go.
Sensing I'll need it, I copy him.
The curt words exchanged during dinner loop around in my head. As he and I relax outside on the front lawn, sitting in the grass in the dark, there's nothing to keep my mind from replaying his words over and over.
We're both sitting cross-legged, our knees touching as we sit facing each other. He's resting his weight back on one arm behind him, while his other hand fiddles with the grass, twisting and yanking out a few blades. I just stare at him with my hands in my lap.
My mom was able to scrounge up enough for a standard tuition for me, but...
My mom and I weren't on the same page about some things.
In the end, I didn't go.
"Shit," I say again.
I see him smile forlornly through the dark. Night's fallen some time ago, so we're probably being bitten to death my mosquitoes, but I don't mind much. He doesn't mind at all.
In the end, I didn't go.
"Is that..." I start to say, but my sentence dies out. When he turns his head, I try again. "You not going to college, does that have anything to do with you being gay?"
His fingers rip some grass out of the ground, soil and all. "Yeah."
Jasper confessed to his mother that he was gay sometime around his senior year in high school, I know that much. He'd never explained much more to me, about how he came out, how his mom took it, or what happened to him afterward.
All I know is that it took her a month to take him back. They'd patched things up a little, I think, but he never talks about her. Three years later there's still a rift between them.
Even so, that doesn't explain his college situation now. If his mother had saved up to put him through school, why wouldn't she let him go after he'd announced he was gay? Why would that still matter at all, if she's already accepted him for all that he is?
He looks back down to the ground, attempting to rip a sturdy blade of grass into pieces with one hand. When it doesn't work well, he crumples it and tries anew.
"What happened, exactly?" I ask.
He visibly wavers. My hand curls around his calf that's in front of me, attempting to give him support through touch, just like he'd done for me.
I ask again, in just a whisper, "What happened when you came out to her?"
Finally, he looks straight at me. His hand abandons the grass pieces to hold my own over his shin. Through the darkness, he doesn't really look sad; he doesn't look like anything, actually, just thoughtful.
"It was the last day of my senior year in high school that I came out to my mom. I thought since one chapter of my life was finally over, I should start a new one immediately," he begins.
His eyes don't hold mine for long, however. He looks down between us to play with each of my fingers. "She took away all the money she'd been saving to put me through college that night," he says. "That's why I never went, why I'm working as a waiter... But I guess that's okay, 'cause I can pay for college myself, or something. Someday."
The anger spreads white-hot through me. What kind of a woman could do such a thing? To purposefully rip her only son's future out of his hands like that... I can't even imagine such a person.
"She seriously took away your college savings?" I shake my head, outraged and unable to understand any semblance of reasoning there. "I'm sorry, but... what a fucking bitch."
"Nah, she's a nice lady."
Jasper snickers quietly, as if it's kind of funny.
I don't see the humor here.
"She kicked me out, too," he adds after a short pause. "Alice convinced her parents to let me stay with them for a few weeks, until my mom and I got our shit together."
No, there's nothing funny about this at all.
His mother had to have been furious to kick her son out to the street for such a stupid reason. He must have been just an innocent, sweet boy back then, undeserving of whatever his malicious mother had done to him.
Does he really laugh about it now? Is it really so easy?
It makes me worry about my own situation, as selfish as that is. I know my mother isn't a bad person, and I know she loves me, despite all my faults. But if I were to tell her that my heart went against her creed, if I told her that her only son loved a man, and that the Cullen family tree may very well end with me...
I don't know how she would take it. But she would have to know, someday, if I chose to be serious with Jasper at all.
"I'm scared to tell my mom about us," I confess to Jasper. "What if she's the same way yours was?"
"She shouldn't be," he tries to reassure me. "I deserved everything that happened to me. I was a stupid, scared child."
My heart aches at his words. Honestly, does he believe he's deserved all that's happened to him? To be kicked out onto the street and have his only ticket to success torn spitefully from his grasp, only for loving the wrong kind of person, according to his mother?
"There's no way you could have deserved that. You did nothing wrong, Jazz," I urge him to understand. "All you did was tell her how you felt."
He smiles bitterly and shakes his head, peering down between us at our clasped hands.
"When I told my mom that I was gay, she asked me if I knew it was a sin against God." Jasper takes a deep breath, then exhales it slowly, his smile faltering. "I basically told her I'd done a whole fucking lot of sinning—and a whole lot of fucking other men, which was clearly a lie. I'd actually only had sex once before... I confessed that I had alcohol and a bag of weed stashed in my room, and condoms, and a dildo. All of which were true.
"If she was going to judge me, I felt that she should judge me for everything that I was. But I completely exaggerated my faults."
I stare at him, stunned.
At eighteen years old, alcohol, weed and condoms were things that occasionally made an appearance in my bedroom as well. But I would never have told my mother that. Jasper did, to show his mother what kind of person he was, even when he wasn't that bad. He was only a teenager.
"What happened?" I ask apprehensively.
"She was so upset, shaking, crying... She said she didn't know her own son anymore." He shakes his head again. "When she said that, I thought she meant that I wasn't her son anymore. So I cussed her out, and she cussed me out. She threatened to not put my disrespectful ass through college—I told her to go fuck herself with her money, then left at her command. I came crawling back to her a month later with my tail in between my legs."
The month he went away—was that his choice? Could he have come home sooner?
She'd only taken his college fund away because he'd cussed her out so thoroughly. Not because he was gay, but because he was disrespectful to the umpteenth degree. He was being a brat.
I stare at Jasper longer.
He squeezes my fingers.
"I was so afraid that she'd reject me because of the truth, I kept it hidden from her. And as soon as she started to question it when I did tell her, I threw everything bad at her at once." He sighs and sits up more, running the hand that had been resting behind him through his hair. "She did what she had to do, and it worked out in the end. I came home a little more mature than I was before."
I don't know how to respond. Everything I'd thought about his mother was wrong, then... She was likely a fine mother to him, but because Jasper had effectively turned his confession into a shit storm, it couldn't have turned out well regardless of how understanding she may have been.
Contemplating that, I lick my lips and ask, "Are you two on good terms now?"
"I don't think she would've gone that far if I told her what I was feeling sooner, rather than when it became a monumental part of me," he says. "If she was beside me when I figured out that I was gay, she could have learned about it with me. I wish I had told her as soon as I suspected it."
The porch light is turned on, bathing us and the rest of the yard in a yellow glow. Mom waves at us from inside the house. Jasper smiles at her and waves back.
"Is that why you wanted me to tell my mom, as soon as possible?" I ask him.
I remember the first time we'd fooled around. The morning after, Jasper had urged me to tell my mother about us. To confess that I had these feelings for another man, despite not knowing what they meant myself.
"But I didn't understand why I liked you back then," I continue. "It was too soon for me... She could have convinced me to stop seeing you, and I wouldn't have known all of what I'd be missing."
I rub my thumb over the soft skin of his wrist, imagining what it would be like if I had never seen him again after that. Perhaps I would have continued to delude myself into thinking that I was completely straight. Where would I be then? Stuck with another girl like Bella, unable to connect with her as I should?
"Our moms are different, so it's a good thing you didn't say anything to her," Jasper tells me, looking toward the house still. "Not like that."
Jasper is still watching my mother, who is still watching us. It seems to be an old habit she has yet to kick, babysitting me from afar when I'm outside. When I was younger I had a great knack for getting into trouble out here, and I suppose she has always kept an eye on me since. I don't think she means to be nosy.
"When would be a good time to tell her about us?" I ask.
His eyes drift back to mine as he senses the weight of my question. As soon as he meets my gaze, his face softens.
I smile nervously as he sets both hands over mine between us.
"When you're sure this is what you want," he answers.
He tastes like barbecue and beer.
Jasper makes a sound of protest in his throat, but I kiss him harder, open-mouthed and deeply, just how he likes it. My hand clutches at the wet grass beside his head while his hand clutches at my shirt, as if he can't decide whether to pull me closer or push me off of him.
He calls me a stupid fucker and I laugh into his mouth.
My mother is screaming from somewhere inside the house—but it's okay.