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Rose & Olive
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Your daily cup of WTF?
Hooksexup@SXSW 2006.
Blogging the Roman Orgy of Indie-music Festivals.
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The Daily Siege
An intimate and provocative look at Siege's life, work and loves.
Kate & Camilla
two best friends pursue business and pleasure in NYC.
Naughty James
The lustful, frantic diary of a young London photographer.
The Hooksexup Blog-a-log
The Prowl, with Ryan Pfluger
ScreenGrab
The Hooksexup Film Blog
Hooksexup @ Cannes Film Festival
May 16 - May 25
ScreenGrab
The Hooksexup Film Blog
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June and I walked to the first line of trees, where we could squat and pee. I even liked doing that: being outside and feeling the cool air between my thighs, the leaves and bits of dirt beneath my toes. We didn't bring tissues to wipe ourselves but stayed and air-dried a bit.
"I just leave it all here," June said to me.
"What?"
"Everything," she said. "Piss, come. It all just runs out of me."
"I know," I said. I liked knowing that it wasn't just piss running out  of me but also Del. Something about being wet with his come made me happy in a way I didn't have words for. It made me feel wild, I guess, and like a woman but those words didn't get at how I felt when I smelled that sharp smell or felt that slipperiness. When June and I talked about sex we sometimes used this one phrase: Young and dumb and full of come. I didn't feel dumb, but I liked the saying because it rhymed and because it used the word "come." I didn't wash any of it away before I went to bed, either. I might wash my feet, dirty from walking barefoot, but I'd leave that smell on me.
"Are you staying over?"
"I told my mom I was," June said.
"Good. I don't want to be alone."
"I'm someone."
"I know," I said.
I'd heard talk in school about other couples screwing together, but as June and I walked back half-naked to the car, I knew that no one could ever be like us. No one would be better friends than June and me, and no one would screw like us. What other people did inside their cars or beside the lake didn't matter. The four of us were inside our own web.
All the way out to the house, Del and I sat in the backseat. He kept one arm on the door, his hand in the open air, and one hand between my thighs. I squeezed his hand with the muscles in my legs to get him to think of the other way I squeezed him, and I put my arm around his shoulders. I felt tough and older when I put my arm around him. Del was a year older than I was, and I saw him as a man, different from other guys in our grade.
"One time we'll have to go camping," Del said to me. "You can tell your dad you're with her." He rubbed his fingers over the wet part of my jeans.
"Maybe she and Ray can go."
"I don't give a shit what they do. I want to be with you." I thought about how good it would be to sleep in a tent with him, and I smiled and made a secret sign on his shoulder blade with my fingernail a butterfly. Sitting like that with him, I knew what I always knew after we'd been together: that it was sweet to Del, too. That's what I saw in his face when he walked back to the car and asked me if I liked his cock. He was glad I liked his body, he was glad I liked to touch him. He would never say it that way, but I knew he felt it. Sweet, sweet, I thought when we were driving around the lake, which was called Sweet Arrow. Sweet arrow means straight arrow, an arrow that flies straight and true.
"What are you thinking about?" Del asked me.
"Nothing," I said. "Just about you."
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