Blow Job Rendezvous in Target Bathroom

She couldn’t have told you now how she had actually found herself skulking around the Target bathroom waiting for Brian to show up and meet her by the drinking fountain as they had discussed on MSN Messenger. She kept pinching herself when she realized she was having a conversation with Brian Coltman. He was in eighth grade while she was in seventh, twelve to his thirteen. He came from the type of family that didn’t give a shit what he did or where he went. Erin supposed that was why it was so easy for him to make their blow job rendezvous at the Target when it took her a week of planning how she would position coming here alone. Securing a ride from her mother only after promising that she was meeting her friend, Jen, there. And that there was no need for her to stick around waiting, she would get a ride back home from Jen’s mother. In truth, she had no idea how she was going to get home again. She didn’t care, she would walk if she had to. Anything to get in Brian’s good graces. He was the coolest boy in school. Not a jock, but a punk. All dressed in his black getups with safety pins stuck through everything and sporting something like a fauxhawk. She had been lusting after him for a year and now, all because of a case of mistaken user name identity (angeldust69 was what he was looking for, but instead stumbled upon her version, angeldust_69), he was actually going to spend time with her. Even if spending time was primarily constituted by her dangling the carrot of sucking his dick. She rather hoped he would kibosh that prospect and just get a coffee with her at the attached Starbucks. 

In truth, she had no idea if he actually knew who she was. She had a tendency to be invisible in their school. Not made fun of like some, but not noticed at all like others. She was somewhere in between, and this was perhaps her chance to ascend to a new rank if Brian was pleased enough with her sucking skills. She had already watched a tutorial, of sorts, online, sure to clear the browser history before leaving the communal family office–this wasn’t the type of search that could be pinned on her father or brother. As the minutes ticked by, she started to wonder if maybe he wasn’t going to show up at all. Or why they hadn’t agreed to meet somewhere less public (then again, a rendezvous amid “nature” allowed far greater opportunity for the sort of violation she didn’t want). Maybe he clammed up at the last minute thinking about potentially being seen by someone from school with her. Was she that embarrassing? Before she could think too much about that, Brian materialized, flooded into the space from the portal that was the automatic door. He approached her cautiously, maybe figuring it wasn’t too late to change his mind. But no, he had come this far, and his older brother, Sean, was waiting for him in the parking lot to finish his “errand.” 

Brian told her this much as he dispensed with any pleasantries and shuffled her into the ladies’ room, checking beneath the stalls before locking the main door. He grinned at her and said, “You wanna pick the stall?” She chose the last one, motioning to it like an automaton with no control over her faculties. So this was really happening. This was actually what she debased herself to for the sake of a few minutes alone with Brian. Dreams of being able to tell the story of how she first started dating her eventual husband to her grandchildren fizzled out as she found herself getting on her knees before him, his buckle already undone and his zipper soon following. “Take my pants off for me.” She obeyed, pulling his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His “package” was not quite what she was expecting: small and hairy–and very pale. Though maybe the latter adjective shouldn’t have been that surprising to her considering his wannabe goth vibe. Yet for some reason, she had been anticipating a smooth, at least medium-sized member with something of a vague tan. This…well, this was almost vomit-inducing and she knew he was going to expect her to swallow his cum, to boot. Wishing she had not gone down this path, that some glitch in the matrix hadn’t sent him to her internet alter ego to arrange this meet-up in the first place, she knew there was no turning back. If she did, he would tell everyone at school about it. That she was a cock-tease and a prude. And that was a reputation she couldn’t abide, especially with high school being imminent. So she took it in her hand and sucked. Fuck foreplay or tiptoeing around the matter at hand. This is what he had showed up for, so this is what he was going to get. 

It felt like an eternity had passed since she began. In reality, it only took two minutes for him to bust. Not so very long in the grand scheme of Erin’s life, yet somehow it would be one of the single most traumatizing and defining events of her existence. She made a big show of gulping down his sour-tasting semen while he watched her, which seemed to get him hard all over again. She started to get up off her knees, but he pushed her down again. “One more time before I go.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand, and Erin didn’t have the strength of character to find out what would happen if she refused. So she obliged, kneeling once more at this altar of false promise in the matter regarding her social elevation. She suddenly realized that from the moment she started talking to him online, her destiny was doomed. For no matter what she did or didn’t do, he was going to tell them all that she was a whore. But you see, she was too naive to fathom that much until the deed had been done, and she had foolishly assumed her reward would be his genuine affection.

Instead, all he did was tousle her hair like she was a little girl, practically stepping on her as he walked out of the stall, unlocked the main door again and slithered out of the Target without a trace. She had hoped he might at least offer her a ride home in his brother’s car. But no. She sat there on the bathroom floor for about another twenty minutes processing the fatal mistake she had just made. The utter stupidity of catering to a male desire. Because once it was fulfilled, they no longer had any use for you afterward. They could just move on to the next wide-eyed (and soon enough, wide-mouthed) sap who would offer them the same, every girl like a single-serve sex toy. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, a plain gray dress with a high-low hem that she had picked out at the Gap. She felt like a retard. An abused fucking retard. Finally finding it within herself to get up from the dirty linoleum, she trudged over to the bathroom sink, washed her hands and then splashed cold water over her whore face. Scrubbing away the makeup she had put on like a right proper trollop going out into the night to get fucked for cash. Instead, all she got was fucked, and not with the benefit of an orgasm. An elderly woman walked in on her frantic purge, flashing her a scandalized expression. Everything was scandalous in suburbia. Even the most inane action. Erin had to get the hell out of that Target, causing further effrontery to the old woman when she barreled past her abruptly, slamming the door behind her and running out into the parking lot. 

The tableau she found herself in was abyssal. And she had no idea how she would actually get back home. It would take her hours to walk the abysmal three-mile length. But what choice did she have? If her mother found out she was lying, the price to pay would be far worse than a demeaning jaunt. A parading walk of shame on the shoulder of the various roads that offered little in the way of pedestrian accommodation. After all, everyone in this town–in this state–had a car. What would be the use of pandering to the type of freaks who walked long distances–the type of freaks who were too poor to have a vehicle? She felt all the layers of self-disgust engulf her as the “promenade” allowed her ample time to reflect upon what had just happened. On what she had just willingly participated in, though she knew that coercion on his part was what played so heavily into her decision. 

Approximately two hours later, having jogged some of the walk whenever she wanted to make it appear to certain cars stopped at red lights that she was merely “out exercising” (though her choice of garb didn’t lend much credibility to that), Erin arrived home, her long auburn hair disheveled and her knees, somewhere along one of the many thickets of the wild and unpaved side of the road, scratched up. She ran upstairs quickly before either of her parents could get a close look at her, announcing that she was taking a shower, which, of course, she was. It was a long one at that, but it did nothing to cleanse what she had partaken of.

After dinner, which she sat mutely through, letting her brother, Jackson, do most of the talking as he always did to discuss some latest delusion of grandeur about a sporting achievement, she went into the office. The ominous, dim glow of the screensaver’d computer–showcasing random “serene” images of nature that felt like a bigger lie than her own current existence–taunted her from afar, daring her to come closer and log back into her MSN account to see if Brian was online. But what good would it do to try and talk to him about what had happened? He would only 1) deny it or 2) insist it was what she had wanted. Even so, she was drawn to the bluish glare of the screen like a proverbial moth to a flame, hypnotized by it long enough to sit in the chair, shake the mouse (complete with a Britney Spears mousepad) and awaken the beast. There he was. Or at least, his avatar: spawnofsatan666. She should have taken his user name to heart. Ironically, he took hers at face value when he shouldn’t have. Just as she shouldn’t have bothered to include a 69 at the end of angeldust. Should have chosen a more chaste number combination like 777. In fact, that’s what she was going to change it to right now. The second she confirmed the alteration, he messaged her: “Hey slut. Keep thinkin bout your sweet mouth on my cock.” She was horrified, X’ing out of the conversation immediately and shutting down the computer full-stop. 

Tomorrow was Sunday. That would only give her one day of mental recuperation before having to face Brian at school. Something she very much did not want to do, yet knowing a vague confrontation with him was inevitable as they shared a class together in English. Which she stayed up late for to finish reading the portion of Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game assigned by Mrs. Grotto on Thursday. She selected the quotes she wanted to use for their upcoming paper on the book, in particular, “Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing–with wavelengths, just as sound and light have” and “The world is made up of two classes–the hunters and the huntees.” It all felt too eerily pertinent to her present situation. She was already feeling stalked by Brian’s preying eyes as they fixed on her come Monday. In fact, her nightmares about him in the small hours of the morning were so intense that among the barrage of unwanted imagery was his penis morphing into a snake that hissed at her before pouncing off of Brian’s body to bite her. She woke up in a cold sweat, greeted by the sight of her brother hovering over her. She gasped.

“Jackson, what the hell are you doing?”

“You’re in big trouble, little sis.” 

She froze. The message from Brian.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

She played the innocent with, “I have no fucking clue. I just woke up.” 

“Mom and Dad wanna see you in the office. Slut.” 

His final word was like a deafening pinprick to both her ears. “Excuse you?”

“You know what I’m referring to… Lolita.” 

She sighed as he sauntered self-superiorly out the door. The last thing she wanted to do was be confronted by her parents about the message Brian had sent her last night. She would lie. She would say that’s how he talked to her and that she hadn’t done anything like what he was insinuating. Yes, that would be sufficient. 

Erin rose from her bed, stumbled toward the bathroom and proceeded to put herself together. Make herself look fresh-faced and dewy enough to be believed as an innocent soul in this matter. When she took her seat in front of her parents, she was appalled to see that they had actually printed out spawnofsatan666’s message to her. This was beyond even her wildest dreams of humiliation. 

Sandra, Erin’s clean-cut mother, was the first to dive in with, “Would you mind explaining to us just what exactly all this is about?” 

Erin swallowed, suddenly triggering a flash of the memory of her doing the same to Brian’s cum. Nonetheless, she started in with the “I didn’t do anything” lie she had prepared. 

Her father, Ransom, was the one to cut her off with, “If that’s the case, then you won’t mind if we call this boy’s parents for a severe talk. He can’t be harassing you like this.” 

The thought of Erin’s parents talking to Brian’s was more than she could bear. Yet, at the same time, so was confessing to them that she had blown Brian in the Target bathroom. It was a classic caught between a rock and a hard place scenario. She had no choice but to try calling her parents on their bluff, insisting, “Look I really don’t want you to talk to his parents. That would be so embarrassing for me. And I’m already on the verge of being branded a loser. If this gets out that you talked to his parents–and it will–I’m done for. Do you understand my position?”

Her forcefulness had taken them somewhat by shock, perhaps expecting her to be the meek little mouse she always was when it came to capitulating to whatever they said or wanted. It seemed, for the moment, enough to appease them. What’s more, no parent really wanted to believe their daughter was a whore. It reflected poorly on their attempts at providing an adequate upbringing. And so, with that, Ransom assented, “Fine. But I’m holding onto this printout as evidence. If he keeps messaging you things of this nature, we might be able to take legal action.”

All this stress for a fucking blow job she didn’t even get any pleasure from. Was this the way of the world? All give and no take? A question she pondered as she sobbed against her pillow through the night, staying awake in dread of the morning. At which time, she donned the same underthings she had worn on Saturday. A sheer white bra and panties she had hoped Brian would see her in somehow. Wearing them at this moment suddenly felt like a mockery of her former purity. As it did to walk down the halls and see a number of boys ogle her as they had never done before. She already knew what the cause was. That her fate for the rest of junior high and probably high school would be to bear the moniker of Harlot. And, as a similar subtitle: Harlequin. That’s what she had to have been to believe that Brian wouldn’t sell her down the river and brag about the blow J to no end. Which again, made her all the more furious to realize he would have done so regardless of whether she had stooped to the lengths she did to please him or not. 

Then came Mrs. Grotto’s third period class. Today, she decided to shift to new material in the form of a play called She Stoops to Conquer. Explaining some of the title’s backstory, Mrs. Grotto quoted Dryden (by way of Lord Chesterfield) with, “The prostrate lover, when he lowest lies,/But stoops to conquer, and but kneels to rise.” The classroom tittered at the allusion to kneeling and being prostrate, with one of Brian’s friends muttering clearly enough, “Is that what you did on Saturday, Erin?” 

She was mortified, her face hot and flushed with the sting of his words. But she pretended not to hear. Just as she pretended not to see the judgmental faces staring at her from every corner and crevice of the school. The three or four friends she did have politely shunned her at lunch, sending her to the back of the school where an open field offered the brief possibility of solace–and maybe a tick or flea infestation on her body. Lyme disease or the bubonic plague wouldn’t be so bad right now, seeing as how she was socially dead already.

So she sat there, eating her pathetic tuna sandwich from her brown paper bag. The one she wanted to put over her head forever. Or at least until she was able to leave this godforsaken place for college. Never again would she believe in a boy’s intentions, having learned the hard way that they are always rife with but one aim: the securing of sexual pleasure at the cost of a girl’s own discomfort and tarnishment. On a side note, Erin would never set foot in that Target again. Her parents didn’t bother to ask her why, choosing to ignore the unspoken truth about what her daughter had done as the rumors (one of which had her engaging in full sex with Brian in said bathroom) swirled continuously with the same gusto as a tornado. 

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