Free First Times: Megan by Natalie Deschain Page A

her. That was where I drank my first booze.
    Not beer. She ordered me a margarita and sat next to me at the bar, sucking on the straw and making eyes at the men.
    “Loosen up,” she barked, her voice half-carried away by the pounding music. “Quit staring at your shoes.”
    To say I was a little overwhelmed would be an understatement. For most of that night I clung to her side, getting drunker and drunker as the evening wore on. By the time we left I could barely walk straight. It was a miracle somebody didn’t drag us off into a dark alley somewhere.
    I woke up the next morning in the wrong dorm room. Jessica’s room.
    Having slept in her bed in my clothes, I was groggy and cotton-mouthed and my head started pounding the moment I moved. I guess she could better hold her liquor, because she was sitting up next to me in the bed, leaning against the wall, and she was topless. I mean, completely. It did not concern her that she was stripped to the waist.
    They were impressive, I had to admit. She had what guys call a huge rack and yes, it made me jealous. From the way I stared and then looked away, it was pretty obvious what I was thinking.
    “Airing them out,” I yawned. “Besides, this is good money.”
    “What’s good money?”
    “Guys stare at my tits on the internet while I do my homework.”
    I shied away from the computer. “Can they see me?”
    “Nah.”
    I let out a long, slow breath. Not like it would matter. I doubt my parents watched camgirls. If it wasn’t for my improved understanding of biology I’d probably still be laboring under the assumption that they only had sex twice, once to impregnate my mother for each of their children.
    My brother had about six girls on the side until his divorce. Don’t get me started.
    Jessica closed the laptop and stood up to stretch, luxuriating in the sun pouring in through the window. Since, you know, the blinds were open. I snatched at the rope to close them and stumbled to my feet. With a roll of her eyes, she poured a loose t-shirt over my head and guided me back down to the bed when I stumbled. I wasn’t drunk, but everything was all tilty-turny and my head was pounding. As I sat on the bed, she poured me a glass of cranberry juice. Or a red plastic cup of it, anyway. Before she handed it to me she fished a bottle of cheap vodka out of the fridge and poured a little in, swirled it around, and handed it over.
    “I don’t want to start drinking again.”
    “Hair of the dog. It’ll help. Then drink some water.”
    I couldn’t taste any booze in the juice, at least. She gave me a bottle of water after that and drinking and a handful of ibuprofen cut back on my headache to the point there the light seeping between the blinds didn’t feel like railroad spikes jamming into my face.
    “What time is it?”
    “One in the afternoon.”
    At least it was a Saturday.
    She was doing homework on Saturday. Huh. I guess if it paid…
    I lifted my head out of my hands when she sat down next to me.
    “I need to get you home, get you cleaned up and changed. We’re going out tonight.”
    I rubbed at my temples. “We went out last night.”
    “That was practicing going out. This is the real thing. We’re going to a music festival. I know one of the bands.”
    Her tone brooked no resistance.
    After she put on something sufficiently decent to wear outdoors, we walked back across to my dormitory. My roommate wasn’t in. I expected her to leave me for a while, but she flopped down on my bed.
    “Go get showered.”
    I could use one, but I preferred my privacy while I changed. I stood there shifting uncomfortably until I finally stripped down, facing away from her as I did. I could feel her eyes on my back as I slipped a towel around my body, put on my flip-flops and headed to the shower. The hot water and steam cleared out my head. I genuinely felt better by the time I got back to the room. Jess was still on my bed, head propped on her hands, stretched out like a cat in