He was just a boy, nothing more, nothing less, just some boy I knew a long time ago. I met him again when I was 19 at a party, and there he was in all his faded glory. He was tall, probably 6’ or 6’2”, and had this long, sexy black hair and these huge hazel eyes that looked gold, lips that were as red as cherry Cool-Aid, the top one curved like a bow but thin and the bottom pooching just a tiny bit, and his skin was as white as computer paper. He had one of those soft, sexy, Southern accents even though he was born and raised near Monterey, Indiana, simply because those accents seemed to come with the territory. He looked at me like I was already his territory.

I was sitting there, alone, in the living room when he came in, handing me a bottle of Boone’s Farm Mellon Balls wine, and sat down on the couch near me.

“I could make you happy, you know,” he whispered. Cory was in the kitchen and I knew Brandon didn’t want him to hear. “I could do things to you, you can only dream about ... I could make you cry for pleasure.”

I looked at him coldly, “In your dreams, white trash ... you just wish you could have me,” I hissed, but all the while my pussy was becoming hotter, slicking up and clutching at nothing, wishing it was him it was clutching at. I knew where this boy had been, and wanted nothing to do with him, but oh god, what would it be like?

His lips curved into a tight smile. “You’ll come, I know you will. They all do,” he said as he rose and wandered into the next room.

“Stupid, stupid,” I thought. I knew I wanted him. But I also knew that I didn’t want all the complications that come with men like him. Arrogant, stupid creatures. I knew I was much better than him. I left not long after that.

One night not long after that I was at the beach, sitting on the hood of my car talking to my friend Nichole when Brandon propositioned me again.

“You know where I live, don’t you? You’ve been there before,” he said softly, his gorgeous eyes glinting in the dark. “I’ll be there all night, and I’m leaving for there now. You can come anytime tonight and nobody will ever know but me and you unless you want them to,” and he reached out and gently caressed my arm, on the soft flesh on the underside of my elbow. I shivered.

“Why would I come to your house?” I hissed.

“Because you want me,” he turned away, climbing into his black Camero. “I’ll be there if you want me,” and he drove off, leaving me to think about what he’d said.

“What am I doing here?” I mumbled to myself as I drove up the long driveway to his house. It was a little creepy with all the trees hanging low over the small, dirt road, the woods on both sides of me. But then I saw his house.

Brandon never had a huge house, probably never will. It was just a small, cozy white house in the middle of nowhere, perfect for the dozens of parties he would throw every month. Secluded ... quiet ... seductive ... like him.

I pulled up to the house, and it was dark, and I thought about turning around and leaving till I saw the red glow from a cigarette flash up in the dark from his porch, and then saw the glow of his pale, luminescent skin in the dark. I got out of my car and started up to the house feeling awkward and like an imposer, a stranger, an imposter. I was no sex kitten, no lover, no naughty playgirl to be here on Brandon Minix’s doorstep! What was I doing here?

He must have seen my hesitation, my falter, because he called out gently, “I don’t bite, y’know.”

I sighed at that smooth, sexy voice and whispered, “I know,” and walked softly, but with more confidence, towards him.

He stood up as I neared him, and I saw the smooth lines of his body glimmer in the moonlight, almost glowing like there was a light inside him, shimmering right under his skin. He wore wide-leg sweat pants low on his hips, low enough that I could see the sharp lines of his cut groin, the muscles in his abdomen, the trail of black hair that disappeared under the line of his pants.

I licked the sweat off of my upper lip and said, almost guiltily, “I’ve never done this before, not like this.”

“I know. You’re a woman who has things on her terms, on her terms ... but that’s okay, that’s why I like you,” he came closer, and I realized it wasn’t a cigarette he was smoking but a joint, “But I’ll give you as long as you need, darlin’. You’ll get comfortable with me, you’ll need me, you’ll even want me. I’ll make sure you do.”

He said this with quiet assurance, not arrogance, which disarmed me. Men who say things like that normally are full of themselves but somehow, no matter how gorgeous Brandon got, he was still that pudgy, nerdy boy who had played D&D in high school and got razzed constantly. I had almost forgotten that boy until now, and I could see him there.

I turned and opened his screen door, and stepped inside. I was fairly amused, because he’d obviously cleaned up the house for me, and the usual disaster area was now quite pleasant, with his cat lounging on the back of the couch, and incense sticks burning from his potted plants. Oh, he was sucking up hard.

“Which way is your bedroom,” I queried, laughing lightly at the waver in my voice, the way the hair rose on my arms when I thought about that dark happy trail sliding down his belly.

“Down the hallway, second door on the right,” he laughed gently, “do you want me to show you?”

“No, take your time,” I said huskily as I sauntered down his hallway, hips swaying seductively and knowing he was watching ... waiting.

His bedroom was most girls’ worst nightmare because it was exactly what you would expect from a white-trash gentleman like Brandon. The bedspread was purple satin, the kind that had been through the washing machine one too many times and was balled and fuzzy, soft, worn, cotton sheets in a Native American pattern on the bed, which he’d obviously made in anticipation of my visit. There were prints of Native American maidens in seductive poses on the walls mixed with the prints of dragons and sorcerers and sensual, erotic women who looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of Heavy Metal magazine in their chain mail garb and broadswords. I just laughed softly.

He’d lit candles all over his dresser and nightstand, and I stepped over to them, blowing out about half of them. Bright light is never a turn-on, no matter how gorgeous the lover. I wondered if I should undress or wait for him, and while I sat on the edge of his bed pondering this idea, I heard the screen door slap shut, and his soft, barefoot tread across the living room and down the hallway.