Fueling for the Light

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Ash

Natalie stood in my living room, hands on her slender waist. My living room. Still couldn’t quite wrap my head around that concept. Sure, I’d described the living room in the house I’d grown up in like that, but this was different. I paid the rent here, last, first, and security deposit, and so this space was mine the way no other had been.

It was a late afternoon in June on the eastern edge of Hollywood, and Natalie was dressed for it, in a tank top and a tiny pair of shorts. She wore a pair of checkered Vans slip-ons without socks. Her golden skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat. Her short hair, dyed a bright turquoise, was wet with perspiration. All day, my eyes kept going to her cleavage, where droplets fell into her shirt, or to her legs, where I could almost see the crease marking where her ass ended and thighs began.

“We have a lot of work to do,” she announced.

We’d been hard at work all day, moving a few pieces of furniture my folks had gifted me, and as well as cardboard boxes containing the sum total of my worldly possessions. I was hoping to get enough unpacked that the place would be livable. It was late in the day, and both hunger and fatigue gnawed at me. I was already making concessions, trying to figure out the bare minimum I needed to be able to sleep the night.

I had just graduated from college, while Natalie was due to start her junior year in the fall. In other words, we were broke. We couldn’t afford movers, and though my parents offered to help, I’d turned them down. Stupidly, I decided to make this a referendum on independence. The only piece of assistance I’d accepted was borrowing my dad’s pickup so I could haul the few chairs, futon, and TV table that was the entirety of my furniture.

My quixotic desire for independence meant Nat and I were up at dawn, packing my stuff into boxes, and carting them across town, then up a flight of stairs to this apartment. My window looked out onto the parking lot of a Del Taco, and that was starting to look mighty good. It was the best scenery I could afford on my meager budget.

Those cardboard boxes filled a room that smelled of barely-dried paint. The alls were white, the floor a blond hardwood. My first apartment after graduation. A studio, sure. I was in Hollywood, technically, on the far eastern border. It counted, as far as I was concerned, and I had my first real job in the industry. Production assistant on a low-budget movie.

“Unpacking you mean?” I asked.

Natalie Cho was my favorite person in the world, which is a good quality in a girlfriend. Not just because she was beautiful, but that certainly didn’t hurt. She’d just helped me move with nary a protest, which included carrying a futon up a flight of stairs. She was about 5’7″ with a lithe, athletic build. Her lovely features were a delicate mix of Asian and European, and whenever we were out, she attracted second and third looks. I was fond of the beauty mark on her right cheek. It felt mysterious and old fashioned.

She kicked off her shoes as she pointed to the main room, the tiny kitchen, then the door into the bathroom. “We need to christen every room. That’s three by my count.” Without any more ceremony, she undid her shorts and pulled them, along with her panties, off. She stood in front of me in nothing but her tank top, the bare slit of her pussy already shiny with juice. Her hands went right back to her hips, like she was explaining an uncomfortable truth to me. Something about her Porky Pigging it in my apartment made her feel more naked than if she’d gotten rid of her top and bra.

I laughed. “Nat, I’m exhausted. I was thinking we could go across the parking lot, order too much Del Taco, and then unpack a sheet for the futon and the TV and just zone out.”

She broke into a mischievous grin, wrapping her arms around my neck, her breath tickling my lips. I was acutely conscious of the fact that she was bottomless. One of the problems is that not only is Natalie irresistible, she is acutely aware of this fact. As though to prove it, the strong smell of her sweat mingled with the spice of her arousal, tightening my pants.

She brushed her lips against mine, speaking softly. “I’m leaving for home tomorrow night. You have to get enough of me to last you all summer.”

“I have to unpack.”

“You don’t need me for that. Besides, I’m not gonna be the second woman you fuck in any part of this place.”

“I’m not planning on fucking anybody until you’re back.”

“Why the hell not? You’ve got the green light. More than the green light, I want you to see someone.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “And then I want you to share her.”

I shook my head in amusement. “That’s what this is all about, huh? You hooking up with hot ladies?”

“And watching you hook up with hot ladies,” she said, tapping the tip of my nose. “That sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna share Morgan?”

She cocked her head, her tawny eyes staring bağcılar escort into mine, a frown creasing her features. “You’re okay with me and Morgan, right?”

“I am,” I said, and that was mostly the truth. The few spikes of jealousy were erased whenever I saw Natalie’s eyes as she looked at me. “I was just thinking that if we share, we share.”

“I’ll talk to Morgan about it. Maybe I can convince her to head down here before she goes back to law school. Now are you gonna make me beg?”

“Begging wouldn’t be bad.”

She put on a cute pout and a cartoony, girlish voice. “Please, mister. Put that thick cock in me? I’ll be ever so grateful.”

I laughed even as I was getting hard. “Yeah, that’s working.”

“Oh please, mister,” she continued in her cartoon voice. She dropped to her knees, opening my shorts and pulling my pants down. She widened her eyes comically. “It’s so big! How ever will I fit this in my tight little pussy?”

“Only one way to find out.”

She began to stroke me, her touch light up and down my rapidly moistening shaft. She somehow managed to walk the tightrope of being silly and sexy. Granted, some of that was the enthusiastic handjob. Anything was less funny while an orgasm was brewing. “I’m really tight,” she confided, then kissed the head of my cock. Her tongue ran over her lips, collecting the precum that she’d found. “I don’t know.”

I let out a growl, turning her around and pushing her onto all fours. She giggled as I took her hips with one hand and guided my cock to her dripping sex with the other. “Ha! I knew that’d get you,” she gloated.

Her laugh turned into a ragged moan as I thrust myself to the hilt. I gave her ass a smack. “Still funny?”

“Nope,” she sighed. “Isn’t this better than unpacking?”

I chuckled, riding her. “Always.”

Soon, we were past words. Our bodies fit together so flawlessly that no words were necessary. I always felt like we were built for each other, that somehow in the great randomness of evolution, we fit, like two pieces of the same puzzle.

As I pumped into her, gripping her athletic hips, I looked down to where we were joined. Natalie’s ass was hard muscle, honed from her time on the soccer field, sheathed in a layer of supple fat. In my estimation, the perfect ass. When she was spread and taking it from behind, her cheeks were far enough apart that between them, I could glimpse the dark ring of her asshole.

I was hypnotized. I wanted it more than any part of her, yet it had been off limits. We’d never really talked about it, but every time I lined up there, ready to take her, she would shift, moving me back to her pussy. Every time she did it, I only wanted it more. This mysterious, winking orifice. I imagined how it would feel, as tight as she’d promised in her cartoon voice. Her giving this to me, was a final frontier in our relationship.

The two of us came together, the rough fucking not fancy but fun. I thrust deep into her and she climaxed around me. Only the first spurt went into her womb. Something in me, revenge for her fun manipulations, inspired the rest. I quickly pulled out, spilling a pearly rope over her ass. The rest went onto her lower back, a bit clinging to the back of her shirt.

I watched breathlessly, the translucent pearl over her asshole. As she moved, it winked. “Oh god!” she protested. She crawled forward, my cock falling from her. “I can feel it in my ass. You dick.” She turned and smacked me, then gave me a soft kiss. “Two more rooms, okay?”

“Food first.”

“Let me clean up.”

“Nope. We’re going to get something to eat and you’re gonna have my cum on you.”

She shivered. She was on her knees, her pussy glistening, a thread of cum leaking from her bare lips. “Okay, that sounds like fun.”

We pulled on our clothes and went across the parking lot and bought a lot of cheap Mexican fast food. The whole time, my cock was wet with the both of us. All I could think about was the way her asshole winked from under its light frosting of cum. I had never wanted anything so much in my life.

We came back with big sacks of cheap tacos and ate them on my floor, washing them down with Cherry Cokes. I managed to convince her to unpack some more, before she was on me again, kissing my neck. “Kitchen or bathroom?” she gasped.

“Either one,” I said. “Could we…I was thinking that we could try anal?”

She stopped her attentions, looking into my eyes. “Anal? You want to fuck me in the ass?”

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. A lot.”

“Have you ever done that?”

“No. I was kind of thinking, it would be like us losing our virginity to each other.”

“That’s stupid and virginity’s a myth.” She kissed me. “But you’re sweet.”

“Is that a yes?”

She blushed. “I don’t know. I’m a little scared, if I’m being honest. You’re already pretty big, and when I think about you back there…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, bahçelievler escort it’s not,” she said, kissing my lip. “You want this. Tell you what. I’ll think about it over the summer, okay? Then maybe when we see each other, I’ll let you fuck this ass.” She gave herself a smack.

“Deal.” I kissed her harder this time, and though she tasted of cheap hot sauce, it was the best taste I could imagine. “Kitchen. Bathroom’s last.”

That night we slept on the futon, cuddled together. We fucked again in the morning before I had to take her to LAX. I didn’t want to stop kissing her at the last security checkpoint, but eventually we could put it off no longer and she went through. I watched her go, and it felt like a light had gone out. I just hoped she’d think about anal. And she’d decide the answer was yes.

I went home and spent the rest of the day unpacking my first apartment. By the time night fell, the place almost looked like someone lived there, although the white walls were perversely empty. I got to bed early, as I started work in the morning. My first real job in the industry that I’d always wanted to be part of. I was just a production assistant, but it was a real movie, and I was on it. I wasn’t even thinking about dating, no matter what Natalie told me.

My life was ahead of me and I couldn’t wait.

Natalie

I always missed Ash more than I thought I was going to. There was something about him. He was easy to be around, comforting and comfortable. We’d been together for a full school year, and it was still going great. I still looked forward to seeing him and he still looked at me with the same love and wonder that was in his eyes the first time we’d fucked. The other women in my class who were dating graduating seniors were panicking that their boyfriends would abandon them, cheat, or break up. I never worried about that with Ash.

And now I was headed off to see Morgan Malinowski. I thought of her as my break-girlfriend. I’d see her on breaks when I went home to Olympia, and she’d be my girlfriend for the duration. We met the previous summer at a regular pickup soccer game, and before long, we were sleeping together. When I flew home last winter break, we started up like we hadn’t left off. I told her about Ash, and she had the same response he did.

The funny thing was, they were both a little jealous of the other, no matter how much they denied it. They each knew the other was special to me, but on the same token, I’d given both of them the green light to pursue other people. I knew Morgan dated off and on, and Ash and I had a couple threesomes under our belts.

The waters were a bit stormy, but I had confidence.

My mom picked me up from the airport. She hugged me and asked about finals, my boyfriend, his new apartment, all of that. She didn’t know Ash except for a few phone calls but was dying to meet him. She even hinted that if he flew up he’d be welcome to stay with us. I think she knew I was sexually active, but I was a little shocked she was that cool with him staying over. Wasn’t like I shared with her that Ash and I only hooked up after I’d been watching him fuck my roommate.

Didn’t take me long to get to my summer equilibrium. Unpacked in my room, got my job at the multiplex, hung out with my old best friend Nicole. She’d made noise about the others who were home for the summer, but taking her up on that invitation was one of the mistakes I’d made last year. I wasn’t going to get sucked back in. The last thing I wanted was another go-round with my high school girlfriend Sarah.

I didn’t call Morgan yet. I wanted to surprise her, maybe make her sweat a bit. Make her worried that she wasn’t getting me for the summer. When she didn’t call or text, I started wondering if she was doing the same to me. She was giving me that wonderful melty sensation inside that she always brought.

I headed to the park for the Thursday night pickup game, breaking into a smile when I saw the amazonian form of my lady love. Morgan was warming up, the silhouette of her impossibly long legs broken up only by a pair of kneepads. I had to stop and appreciate and come to terms with the fact that soon this impossibly gorgeous woman’s face would be between my thighs.

Her long, wavy golden brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a baggy Sounders jersey that, even when combined with a sportsbra stretched to its limit, couldn’t hide her impressive bust. Her face was locked in concentration, her dark, arched brows knit over her prominent nose. I jogged across the field. Her gray eyes found me and lit up, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Hey there, Wambach,” she said, all fake casual, using her little nickname for me. I wore an Abby Wambach jersey to these games.

I threw myself into her arms, wrapping my legs around her waist and planting a kiss on her surprised lips. Some of the guys let şirinevler escort out a lecherous whoop. I finished the kiss before I dropped down and stuck out my middle fingers, turning around to make sure they all got the finger they’d earned.

“Real nice, Cho,” said Will, one of the usual team captains. He was a guy in his late thirties who owned a bike shop. I oscillated between liking him in spite of, well, everything, and thinking he was a douchebag.

“Deal with it,” I sang.

“Rodrigo could use one of those.” He gestured to the younger guy, who was doing his best not to stare. He’d had a thing for me last summer. Guess he still did.

“So give him one,” I suggested. Now he was getting the business from the guys. The heat was off me, and I turned to my break-girlfriend. “How you doing, cutie?”

“I like your hair.”

I ruffled it. “Thanks. You’re picking me first, right?”

“We’ll see.”

Morgan captained one side, and she indeed picked me first. And maybe it was because they’d annoyed us a little bit, or maybe it was me having a full year of starting on my college team, but we destroyed them.

As the other players filed off the field, Morgan came up next to me, slipping her arm about my waist. “Wanna hit the Squatch?” she asked, referring to the local diner that was our usual post-game hangout.

“Or,” I said, patting her firm ass, “you take me home now and we figure out food later.”

She laughed. “This is going to be a fun summer, isn’t it?”

Ash

This wasn’t shaping up to be a fun summer. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I had to keep reminding myself this was my foot in the door. Before anyone would read word one of a script I’d written, I’d need to make an impression, pay my dues, put in my hours.

That meant being a production assistant. Without PAs the entire film industry would collapse. PAs basically do whatever anyone in authority needs them to. In theory, that’s the director or the producer, though our direct boss was the assistant director. In practice, it’s everybody. Because on a set, everybody outranks PAs. We fetched, we carried, we ran messages to and from executives. We did dirty jobs and tiring jobs and boring jobs and humiliating jobs. We filled in every last corner of a movie set in a way that no one else could be bothered to.

The upside was that the job was different day to day. The other PAs on set trauma bonded, the group of us becoming a fire-forged squad. We all had ambitions beyond what we were doing, some part of the business we wanted to break into.

I hadn’t thought about Natalie’s green light at all until I met Veronica Santos. She and I got paired for the day early in the shoot. We were helping the teamsters, running messages for them, getting them food when they wanted it, and mostly doing whatever it was they needed done.

Soon as I lay eyes on Veronica, I knew I was going to be the one doing most of the heavy lifting. She was tiny, barely five feet and not even a hundred pounds. Between her pageboy haircut and her Buddy Holly hipster glasses, she looked like a Latina Velma from Scooby-Doo, though the resemblance ended there. It was summer and we were shooting in the Valley, so she dressed in tank tops and black jean shorts most days, along with a pair of Converse All-Stars she’d repaired with duct tape.

That first day, during one of our breaks, we sat on a curb in Van Nuys in the shade of one of the camera trucks, the summer sun cooking our brains.

“Glamorous, huh?” I remarked.

“It’s like I’m living a beautiful dream.”

“Ash,” I said, sticking my hand out.

“Vee,” she said, taking it.

And just like that, we were friends. The same was true for all of the PAs eventually, but Veronica was by far my closest friend on that set. Turned out we were both writers, and we did what writers do. We swapped our screenplays for notes. One of the more nerve-wracking experiences, as no one can identify a problem like a writer and we aren’t always nice about it.

Two weeks into the shoot, all the PAs went to a dive bar not far from my apartment after work. My stomach was alive with butterflies as both Vee and I had promised to have our notes ready. The place was small and dim, but they had the Clash on the jukebox and didn’t water the drinks too much. The group of us took over a table and got started with the drinking.

We traded the newly-battered copies of our screenplays, both of us tentatively eyeing the other. Getting notes from a friend was a double-edged sword. More valuable, but they could also hurt more.

“What’d you think?” she asked.

“It’s amazing. I hate you,” I said.

She laughed. “No, seriously.”

“You’ve got a couple issues in the second act, but nothing too bad. Your dialogue is fucking incredible. Realistic, witty…it’s like the stuff I wish I said.”

“Aw, you’re just being nice.”

“No, I’m not. If you sucked, I’d tell you.”

“The funny thing is, I wish I wrote like you. You take these bizarre ideas and you make them seem so natural. I’m reading this thing about an alien’s blood being a drug and also dreams and I never question it. Not even once.”

“And here I thought I was getting too weird.”

“If anything, you didn’t get weird enough. A couple places it looked like you were holding back. Don’t.”

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