It began the day I licked his underarm. We were just messing around on my bed and I didn’t think anything of it. Joey was wearing a muscle shirt that day. It was white and he looked so dreamy. I was down to my bra and panties—like we were playing strip poker without any cards.
I was feeling so sexy and loving all the attention from my new guy. Joey’s such a hunk and when he’d picked me out of a whole cafeteria full of girls my first day of community college, I knew I had graduated to the big leagues. We hadn’t done the deed by this point, but I could feel it coming. I mean, it wasn’t like I was a virgin or anything. I’d been with three guys so far and turned down a lot more. My girlfriends won’t even do group dates with me because all the guys are hanging over me the whole time. I’m not bragging or being a bitch about it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just a girl like any another girl, whose breasts could be bigger and legs longer, but apparently they all see something in me.
The only one I cared about at that moment, however, was Mr. Joseph Torelli, second year mechanics student and son of a garage owner on the East Side.
“Damn it, boy,” I giggled, playfully fighting off yet another of his attempted gropes to my barely covered chest. “You need to use some deodorant.”
Being a typical guy, and having none of the fifty million hangups that define us as females, he just grinned at me. “I smell like a man,” he said in that totally sexy voice of his—a cross between Justin Timberlake and that dude from Sopranos, the old guy whose name I can never remember. “Makes you hot, doesn’t it?”
“As if!” I snorted with an appropriate roll of my blue eyes. “Now get out of here. I got homework to do.”
Joey easily fended off my pitiful girl slap in his direction. “Make me,” he leered, those gorgeous brown eyes flashing mischief as he grabbed both my wrists.
“Cut it out,” I squealed, trying to make like I hated having him be so into me. “Let me go!”
For the record, my hands were now pinned down on either side of my head. For some reason, this excited me terribly. My heart pounded like crazy and I was wet between my legs, though he wasn’t doing anything sexual yet!
“I will,” he replied, his face lit up the way it always did when he’d thought up something he knew was really clever. “But you gotta do something first.”
I blinked up at him. Half curious, half pissed. “What?”
He ran his tongue over his lips. “Taste me, babe.”
Joey’s left arm shot up, his right gathering both my wrists to keep me in my place. For a minute I didn’t get it, but then he pantomimed it for me, pretending to lick his own underarm.
Taking his meaning now, I moved immediately into proper ‘eeewww’ mode, as in ‘eeewww, that salad is totally brown,’ or ‘eeewww, your gym teacher is like so perving you.’
“Come on, baby,” he purred, turning on that charm of his that ought to be illegal. “Just do it. Do it for me.”
My breath quickened. I was totally aroused from having all this muscle on me, all this attention. It was so unfair he still had on the T-shirt and corduroy pants to boot. No matter what they tell you about equality of the sexes, it’s still us girls who get perved and the boys who do the perving. Look at the TV, the billboards. Who is it parades in panties, smiling and spreading for SI every spring?
Not the chicos, honey. Just the chicas.
“Come on, Mickey, you’re so hot,” he pressed. “You have such a great little bod. Do it. Do it for me.”
Do it for me. I bet anything these words have ruined more women in history than any others. I was doomed, and I knew it. Joey had me wrapped around his little finger. I needed and wanted him too much. Needed him as a boyfriend, a self-esteem booster, too, and believe me, he used that to his advantage. Or how else do you think he’d talked me out of my jeans and sweatshirt so fast?
“All right!” I cried. “I’ll do it!”
Joey stroked my damp forehead. My chestnut hair was a tangled mess, but for some reason he was touching it like spun gold. “That’s my girl,” he crooned.
Rolling my eyes again, covering the lump I felt in my throat, I said in exasperation what every twenty-first century gal says when she needs to keep her cool. “Whatever, Joey.”
He held his armpit for convenient access. I thought I was going to retch. A girl can’t have so much as one hair there, and God forbid she should have the slightest scent. But a guy—he can have a forest in there and smell like a locker room and it’s all good. Scrunching up my face, I moved in for the kill.
“Slow,” Joey coached. “Do it real slow.”
What was with the guy, anyway? You’d think he’d just talked me into giving him a blowjob. I mean, licking an underarm—what could that do for a guy?
A lot, apparently.
See the road we were about to go down had a name. Had anyone told me at the time, I’d have freaked. BDSM was an old people’s game. My folks, I’m pretty sure, were into some of it, because I’d seen handcuffs and a blindfold in my mom’s drawer one time when I was looking for some cigarettes.
Joey knew stuff about it too, but he was playing possum with me at the moment. All he’d let me in on so far was that I needed to lick his hairy, odorific underarm socket in order to be allowed up from my bed. Trust me, it was gross. But the thing is, he was making me do it. I didn’t have a choice. My tongue was just out there, dabbing, ready to pay homage at the undercarriage of male power.
My first taste was heavy, bitter. Pungent.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice heavy.