Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Bunny Ch. 3
Mom, Dad, are you proud of your boy?
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice I’m at the counter until I hear Brandon tell me “One fifty-seven, my friend.”
I look down, surprised to see a cup already pushed into my hand, and blush. “Sorry, here,” I stammer, handing him the money. Now I’m ninety percent sure that I have a crush on him; the remaining ten percent say that it is my lack of socialization that makes me nervous when he’s present.
“Hey, Tucker, do you play Ultimate?” Branson asks as he drops the money into the cash register.
“I don’t know what that is,” I say honestly.
Brandon’s jaw drops and his eyes go wide. “Never heard of Ultimate Frisbee? The best sport since bouldering?”
“I don’t know what that is, either.”
“Oh my god. Carrie,” he turns to the girl working the cappuccino machine, “this guy has never heard of Ultimate.”
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and grins at me. “Excuse him; he’s kind of a dork.”
Brandon throws his hands up. “Carrie, it’s Ultimate. How could you not—“ he stops and turns to me. “You have to play with us sometime. We meet at the park on Thursdays at one-thirty and Sunday evenings at seven.”
“At night?” I can easily imagine being hit in the eye by a silent, murderous Frisbee.
Brandon nods enthusiastically. “We have this glow-in-the-dark disc; it’s wicked awesome.”
I’m suddenly cognizant of the line behind me, and step to the side. Brandon barely greets the next woman as he takes her order. “You should totally come. You’ll love it.”
I can’t look at his hazelnut eyes or his contagiously bright smile and say no, so I say I’ll try and duck out of the shop. I feel a smile stretching my cheeks all the way to the park, and through my reading. The warm feeling inside does not fade until I get into the car with Mr. Hale.
“I see you enjoyed your reading,” he says.
“Mm hm,” I murmur, settling my head in his lap. Mr. Hale, like any man (or woman, I suppose), is much more agreeable when sexually satiated. I unbutton the button closest to my nose and slip a hand inside his shirt, running my fingers over the muscle while I press my nose into his stomach. Bunny, I think, you are a shameless whore.
Mr. Hale makes a call, confirming business meetings and checking his stock. I wonder what the people on the other line would say if they knew that Mr. Hale was rubbing my crotch with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone, or that his so-called ward was busily licking up and down his shaft. I wonder what they would think of me.
I am a well-practiced and skilled cocksucker, Mr. Hale likes to inform me, so I have him satisfied, cleaned, and tucked back into his pants before we have pulled into the driveway. It is time to be rewarded.
“How would you feel if I wanted to play Ultimate Frisbee?”
“The cashier at the coffee shop invited me. It’s only an hour on Sundays and Thursdays, and I’m pretty sure that the games are always during practice.”
Mr. Hale pats my head benevolently. “Yes, as long as you remain on your best behavior.”
My blood boils a little at that, but this is the first time I’ve been allowed to join an organization since my parents were alive. I savor the moment.