The Way It Should've Gone

What the hell is the point of anything? I mean when you think about it, everything’s fucked anyway. It doesn't matter what anybody does, the world keeps spinning the way it's gonna spin, and you're getting plowed over if you're in the way. Nothing you can do about it, except live through it the best you can, maybe finding some pleasure along the way.

Pleasure comes in all forms. Some of us like to eat, some of us like to make money. Some of us like sex, some of us like the whole home and hearth thing. Whatever floats your boat, I say go with it. It's the best you're ever gonna get, and it’s all you can expect, so let'er rip. But that's the problem, isn’t it?

We can’t let anything rip, leastways not all of us can. We're scared, uptight, freaked, got our heads rammed way too far up our asses. We can't see what to do to get those pleasures working for us, so instead they start dragging us around, making them more like curses than blessings.

I don't have that problem. Sure I get scared, but I've never been guilty of having my head up my ass, not anybody else’s either. I see shit just like it is, look dead at it, and call it by the right name. I have to be that way, only thing that's kept me alive this far. And sure, my life ain't much, but to me it's everything.

So my point's simple, life’s a bitch, then you die. Not exactly original, but it's one of the classics. Clichés are clichés 'cause they're true. People say'em over and over ‘cause they make sense, sum up “whatever” in a nice tight package. And that nice tight package? Well that's one of my main pleasures.

Got my boots propped up on the table, Giles isn't around, and I'm carving a stake. The gang's doing their thing, but I tuned'em out about twenty minutes ago. Christ, I think it was twenty minutes ago, coulda been twenty hours ago. I lose all track of time when I'm hanging with them. It's like they suck all of the minutes up and grind’em back out, each second just plodding along until I'm sure I’m gonna have to kill each and every one of them.

But she's here now, so I got something to occupy my mind. She's pretty much all I need to see me through the day, and some of the nights too. She's got some ridiculous shirt on, all pink and yellow with these white shorts that cling where they're supposed to. Sandals, pink toenails, and an ankle bracelet that's gold and keeps catching my eye every time she moves her leg.

She's doing the girl talk with Willow, and she keeps trying to include me, but I'm resisting. I don't wanna talk about clothes and boys and proms and flowers. I wanna talk about slamming her up against a wall or down on my bed, and getting to experience one of life's best pleasures. I want her all the time, every day, every minute, and girl talk just ain’t gonna get it done.

Jumping her and scaring the shit out of her isn't gonna work either. She's gonna take a gentle touch, a soft hand, a little delicacy. The problem is that’s nothing like me. I'm more a right to it kind of girl, screw and go. I don't woo anybody, just me being me gets everybody all ready to go. Always been that way, probably always will be.

I'm like sex nip to everyone, boys and girls alike, and that's just the way it is. I'm hot, I’m sexy, and I know what I'm doing. I can work what I got, and I guess it sounds like bragging, but I can nail anybody I feel like nailing. That’s the way it’s been as long as I can remember, and now that I'm a Slayer, I don't gotta worry somebody stronger’s gonna take advantage.

Only person as strong as me is sitting across the table looking like a California cheerleader with brains. She's so fucking sexy, and I don't think she always gets that. Everybody in the room would like to screw her. Xander slobbers whenever he looks at her, Willow’s all with the hero worship.

I don't think she even knows it, but Red's a chick who could swing both ways. Don't know how I know, it's just a vibe she puts off. Takes one to know one, I guess.

So here we all sit, them drooling over B, and me pretending to be oblivious while I watch the light bounce off her perfect shampoo commercial hair. I mostly keep my eyes down, but I've got the timing figured out perfect. I look up in this rhythm her and me got going, and nobody even sees me doing it. I keep in stride, and damn if her neck isn't the most kissable thing I've ever seen.

I'm not in love, don’t wanna give out false impressions. I'm just in lust, big time lust, maybe the biggest I've ever been in. I mean, I like her, don’t get me wrong. I don't wanna just fuck her and move onto the next one. I'd like to stay and still be friends, and that in itself is a totally new deal.

I don't do friends. I've never had one, so I'm way clumsy at trying to get this one secured. Plus I don't know, can you have sex with a friend and still keep’em as friends? Man, I hate thinking about this fucking shit.

But I gotta ’cause I want her, and the usual ways are just not gonna cut it. I’ve gotten myself into it this time, and there’s nobody to help me work it out. That’s all cool, I mean I always go it alone anyway. No big deal there, in fact I like it like that. Means I got my back, and I don’t gotta count on anybody I can’t trust.

But it also puts all the pressure right on me, full square for the duration. Good thing my shoulders are strong and I’m tough as shit, hard as nails. Yep, I’m gonna work this around to what I want, then when I get it, I’m gonna haul my ass right outta this crappy

little town. Could call it “one horse”, but that’d be an insult to all the towns that got’em a horse. This place is a hellhole.

And yeah sure, the Hellmouth doesn’t help things, but really the place is boring as fuck. Got the one nightspot, well there’s another, but you risk your life going there. Can bet you right now this group has never been within a mile of that joint. Nope, “The Bronze” handles all their wild party needs just fine.

For those of us with a little more of an adult taste, my private hotspot works it pretty good. Can’t just pick-up anybody though, not exactly itching for the crabs, ya know? Hey, pretty fucking funny there. But seriously, you don’t get selective in a dive, you’re gonna get yourself a long-lasting souvenir you can’t take home to the fam.

Party’s over because Mr. Stick Up His Ass has finally shown. I give it a shot, but he clears his throat as he passes by, then says my name all disapproving like. I consider not responding, but do I really want to get into it with him now? No I don’t, so my boots hit the floor as I play the obedient Slayer.

Wow, it was worth it. She’s smiling at me now, one of her big, bright, golden, warm, perky, blinding, friendly, affectionate…What the hell was I saying? I hate when that happens, I feel like a real tool. Some pretty chick smiles, and it’s like my brain’s been zapped and I’m a moron.

I don’t even like girls, much. Generally when I got an itch, I like to ride stick. It’s true that girls make better lovers, can’t argue that. But girls get attached so fucking fast, plus a lot of them are too smart to play off. Then you got some bawling snot machine trying to throw a saddle on your back, and who needs that drama?

Or you fuck some girl that has a brain she wants to use, so she decides to shrink you to figure out why you gotta keep movin’. I don’t need it. I already know what I’m about, so what’s in that for me but a shitload of heartache?

You screw a guy, you don’t get that. They just wanna ram it in and out, and then they fall asleep or run for the door. That works best for me, and trust me when I say I can get what I need and then boot their asses right the hell out. Nobody sleeps over at my place, ever. Works for me and them, ‘cause there’s nothing like a hot chick who doesn’t wanna cuddle or talk.

So the fact that I’m all hot and bothered by some prissy little girl is strange, but not totally out of my norm. I can deal, but it’s gonna take a bit. I think she’s straight, but that’s not the biggest obstacle.

Hell, I turn straight girls all the time, I can get anybody after me. Done it a million times with the straightest of girls, just screwed’em and hauled my butt right the fuck outta there. Let them deal with the consequences.

No, the problem here is I’m not going to get some and get gone. I’m trying to fuck her, then stay awhile. Yeah, I know what I said before, and okay, I didn’t really mean it. Was just talking all big, doing my usual routine. But this place isn’t so bad, not really.

Got vamps everywhere you look, and Giles is making sure I get my rent paid, and that I get three squares a day. It’s cool not to have to sneak out on the rent every few months, and it’s amazing I’m not hungry all the time. Plus, B’s friends are okay with me. Least I can talk with them when I gotta have a little company. It’s not often I’m not satisfied with just myself, but sometimes I like to be engaged.

Also, Mrs. Summers has me over for dinner four or five times a week, and that’s something I’ve kinda gotten used to. She wants me to move into their spare room, but like I’m gonna get stuck there? I’ve been on my own since I was a kid, I like being independent.

Mrs. Summers would be all rules and curfew, and I’m not doing that for anybody. I’m me, and I’m staying me. Still, they can kinda make it tough.

So the “watching the paint dry” meeting finally wraps, and me and B head over to her place. It’s all going fine but then over chicken and mashed potatoes, Mrs. Summers starts up. Just like I said, she’s trying to put the screws to me, and B’s joining in.

One minute I’m shoveling in the free chow, the next it’s “The Summers Girls” trying to pin my ass. They’re finishing each other sentences, they’re saying I can choose the color for the repaint job, and Mrs. Summers says Giles says The Council says they’ll foot the bill for all the new furniture and stuff.

I can’t get a word in edgewise. They’re like on speed or something, then it goes quiet and they’re both staring, waiting for an answer. I can’t give’em one, ‘cept to decline, and now the big gun gets fired. B thrusts that bottom lip out and her eyes are all huge and sad. Like that’s gonna mean anything to me.

Oh look, here come the tears. They’re not falling, but she’s got’em swimming, threatening to start rolling down her cheeks. Chicks, yeah? Well that shit don’t mean shit to me. I walk away from that stuff all the time and never ever look back for a sec.

So I tell her I’ll think about it, and man the room goes so bright I think it’s a power surge of epic proportions, or maybe a meteor hit the house. It’s so beautiful, like what you imagine the sun might be like if you could actually look at it without going blind. That’s something. Big bright ball up there, but if you stare at it directly, you’re never gonna see it or anything again.

I stare back down at my plate, and Mrs. Summers heads to the kitchen to snag dessert. She pats my shoulder like a mom as she goes by, and this time I don’t even flinch. I guess I’ve gotten used to it or something, which was not easy.

The lady loves to touch. Hugs, kisses, pats on the back, hand on hand when shit starts goin’ down. It’s weird. She don’t mean anything off-color by it though, Mrs. Summers is just a mom, and a good one. She’s always got a hold of B and she loves her, I can see she does.

I’m not thinking that applies to me, how pathetic would that be? I don’t need a mom, and I sure as fuck don’t need a hug. But I take it from Mrs. Summers ‘cause it’s her way, and I dig the free meals. I’m no dummy, know what side my bread’s buttered on.

When she comes back with dessert, it’s chocolate cake, my fave. Mrs. Summers cuts it in half, shears a tiny slice off for herself, cuts B a decent sized piece, and then slides the untouched half over to me. What can I say? I dig the sweets.

The three of us eat in what I guess is what people call a “comfortable” silence. I don’t know, I just know I’m fine with it. We get like two bites from the end, and Mrs. Summers starts screaming about forgetting the ice cream. I tell her it’s cool, I’m full anyway, and B agrees.

Mrs. Summers is all pissed at herself, but it’s the funny kind, not the kind where she’s gonna start drinking and hitting. She gets up to clear the table and do the dishes, but I beat her to it. Slayer speed always wins the day.

I volunteer me and B for clean-up duty, and B shoves her mom into the living room. It’s our routine, and I’m happy to do it. Nice as it is she makes me food, figure I oughta earn it. Don’t want any favors ‘cause that can make you weak, and I’m not doing weak for no one.

B dries and puts away, I wash and rinse. Part of that just makes the best sense. B puts away ‘cause she knows where all the stuff goes, and I wash because she does it like a blind monkey. It’s like the plate’s a moving target or something. She’ll wash with all her might, then rinse and hand it over, all proud and shit. But when I go to dry it, there’ll be food all over it.

So I wash, she dries, and Mrs. Summers actually gets clean dishes out of it. It’s a win/win, makes everybody happy. Can’t beat that.

So the table’s cleared, I’ve got my hands in hot soapy water up to my elbows, and B switches on the radio that’s sitting on the counter. Not a heavy metal channel, but not wimpy muzak either. Kind of a Slayer compromise, and it gets the job done.

Me and B are side by side, not talking or singing, and let’s all thank the Lord above that B’s not singing. Her voice? Yeah, best left unheard, although she goes at it with a lotta gusto. When I think about it, it’s kinda cute.

We’re finally down to the pots and pans and she bumps me with her shoulder, but pretends she didn’t. Man, it’s like she’s a two-year old. I ignore her, so of course she does it again. I look at her full on, but she keeps looking straight ahead like nothing happened.

Fine, I can play that game. She does it again, and I just ignore her baby ass. She tries again, but I am a brick wall and nothing can get me to…Oh hell no, she did not just do that. She fucking did! The little bitch just squirted me right in the face with the hose thing.

I look at her to tell her she’s dead, and she blasts me, making me swallow about a gallon of water. I go to grab her, but she sprays me again and takes off running. I’m gonna kill her, and kill her dead.

B heads up the stairs, and I’m right on her heels. We blow past Mrs. Summers, and she doesn’t even look up from the magazine she’s reading. I guess she’s been there, done that, way too many times.

We’re on the landing and B fakes like she’s heading to the bathroom, but she cuts to her room instead. I anticipate perfectly, and execute a textbook flying tackle. I knock her right into her room, and we crash hard into her bed.

B’s ticklish and I’m on top, so that means it’s time to torture her. She starts pleading, but I’m one tough fucker, and pleas for mercy don’t mean shit to me. I pin her arms with my knees, then go to town. She’s screaming and laughing, and I don’t let up, not until she can’t breathe and is threatening to piss her pants.

I let her go then, and she looks so hot. Like I just showed her a good time, like she’s completely worn out and satisfied. Her skin’s all sweaty and flushed, her hair’s all messed up, and she’s breathing all gaspy and rough. She’s so beautiful, so sexy, so exactly what I want. By “want” I mean “to fuck”. I don’t do anything else.

She asks me if I want to sleep over, and I tell her I don’t do sleepovers. She laughs and tells me they’re fun. Right, fun. So fun I’m gonna give up my space, and for what? To listen to some girl talk my ear off about whatever fucking nutty stuff pops into her head? Yeah sure, when pigs fly.

Mrs. Summers hollers up that she’s finished up for us, and that happens just about every time. She never even gets mad, and I don’t really get it. Even if she’s not gonna smack somebody, you think she’d at least yell. Worst she ever does is ask us when we’re gonna grow up, and even though she pretends to be pissed, you can tell she’s not.

So B gets up, pulls out a bag, and starts packing. I ask her what she’s doing, but she just looks at me like I’m a retard. Then she walks outta the room, and comes back with her toothbrush and girly bathroom shit. I’m wondering if I missed something when she throws a stake in, zips it closed, slings it up on her shoulder, and walks out of the room.

I tag along trying to look all in the know, but really? No clue. She grabs another stake off the coffee table, kisses Mrs. Summers, and promises we’ll call when we get in. Mrs. Summers says that would be good, then stands up and hugs me. I hug her back, it’d be rude not to, then she kisses the top of my head and tells us to be careful. She also hands me this stupid sissy ass container with the rest of the cake in it, and tells me not to eat it on patrol.

Then me and B are outside, and we hear Mrs. Summers locking it down for the night. B starts to say something, but I hold my hand up to stop her. I listen real hard for “The Twilight Zone” theme song. Man, I love that show. I’ve been watching it forever, and there’s no doubt I’m right in the middle of one of the few episodes I’ve never seen.

B looks at me like I’m nuts, but what the hell is this? I said I don’t do sleepovers, and that’s a firm policy. Not changing it for anybody, just how it is. As I’m explaining it all in great detail, B just kinda walks off laughing. Fine, laugh all you want, but I’m not budging.

We slay for a few hours, but the night’s way slow. We end up near my motel and instead of peeling off for home, B just comes along. That’s cool, I don’t mind the escort, but she’s not staying. See the previously mentioned policy.

We get there, and B saunters in like she’s got an invite. She tosses her bag onto the chair, then jumps down onto the bed. She wants to start off with pizza, and I am hungry as hell. That’s no big, we share meals all the time. Not like some food makes it a lame ass sleepover or nothing. ‘Sides, pizza works. Fact is, pizza rules.

I pop on the TV while she checks in with her mom and calls in our order, and I can’t get the piece of crap to pick up anything except some lame old movie. B tells me to leave it, and then we start getting into it, making fun of it left and right. When the woman slaps the guy, he belts her right back. She had it coming, but B thinks a guy should never smack a girl. Yeah, if only the world was made of everything nice.

Pizzas arrive with two two-liter bottles of coke. It’s B’s treat, she says it’s the least she can do for me letting her spend the night. Sounds fair to me.

We eat like pigs, and at one point B gets laughing so hard, she snorts coke down the wrong pipe and I gotta pound her on her back. She’s so fucking cute, even when she blows soda all over the carpet.

So then the food’s gone, the movie’s over, and the TV just up and dies. B grabs her pajamas out of her bag, heads into the bathroom and closes the door, saying I should get changed too. That sounds cool, and even an idiot would know now’s the time to do it. Thing is, I don’t have pajamas.

Nope, no way. Nothin’ like it. I sleep in the raw, just me and the sheets. Only way to go, and it sure saves me big when laundry day rolls around. Somehow that perk’s not doing shit for me now. What the hell am I gonna do?

B’s actually singing and I hear the water running. She’s all muffled and the words are all…Christ, she’s singing while she brushes her teeth. Now there’s gonna be toothpaste all over my towel ‘cause she’s gonna foam like a rabid dog, then just wipe it on the nearest whatever.

But I got bigger fish to fry here. I strip real fast, then throw on the t-shirt I work out in when I’ve got nothing else clean. It’s too big, it’s old, and it’s got a huge ass tear in it. But hey, beggars. I debate it, then decide to slip on one of my three pairs of underwear.

B comes out wearing her cow pajamas. I love those, she’s so cute and looks like a ten year old when she’s got’em on. She smiles at my get-up and tells me the bathroom’s all mine. Well yeah, fuck, this is my place. I slam the door a little, and stare at myself in the mirror.

I’m trying to think through the recent chain of events, but I can’t remember how it got to the point where she was spending the night. I go over and over it, but I don’t see it or anything even sorta like it.

Guess I’m forgetting something ‘cause when I come out, B’s in bed already. All snuggled in, flipping through one of my motorcycle magazines. She looks at me and smiles, all happy and comfortable. Yeah, she should be. The ditz is on my side.

I got the mattress all broken in there, got my own pillow and everything. This is why I don’t do sleepovers. Now what?

Okay when you think about it, no sense going nuts over a mattress and a pillow. Get too used to those kinda comforts, you can go all soft. Well not me, not losing any of my edge.

I get in on the other side, lumps and all, because I’m tough and I don’t need any special treatment. I’ve been like that forever, and I’m gonna go out that way. It’s the only thing that makes sense in my world, so actually B’s doing me a favor with her ridiculous girly slumber party.

We say goodnight, I hit the light, and that’s it. ‘Cept she’s right next to me breathing, the heat just kinda pouring off of her body. I start going over my plans, she’s in my fucking bed, and they call it that for a reason. What’s the best way I can get a look at her pajamas from the inside?

Then her hand finds mine, my fingers automatically lace with hers, and she rolls close to me. I think I stopped breathing, and it’s a problem because I can’t seem to remember how to do it anymore. I’m gonna die right here in my bed, no fucking required.

There’s some movement on her side, then she’s like looming up over me. I don’t like that, I’m strictly an on top kinda girl, but before I can complain she’s kissing me. Kissing me with her mouth.

I know that was stupid, what else do you kiss with, but I’m still not breathing. Hey maybe that’s what she’s doing, a little CPR, ya know, to save my life. Course I don’t think you’re supposed to stick your tongue in the victim’s mouth, that would just block more shit up.

But B’s tongue is definitely in my mouth, all warm and soft and delicate. It’s like she doesn’t know for sure what she’s doing, but it doesn’t seem to matter because I am turned on. Say ten is the limit, I’m like at thirty.

I don’t move, I don’t wanna scare her off, and for that I should get some kind of award. ‘Cause the images flashing through my brain? All about moving.

She’s almost completely on top of me now, and I’m tingling everywhere she’s touching. Her hand is drifting around, and I’m wondering if I should explain to her that I’m gonna explode. Seems only right since I might mess her all up when I blow. And she is wearing our favorite pajamas.

I try to talk, but nothing comes out. That’s weird because I always talk in situations like this. Must be because of that whole no breathing deal. Maybe if I try and count cows or something. Then her hand starts moving around my tit, and I’m breathing again. Groaning’s breathing, right?

Because man, am I groaning. I decide to stop, it’s not the coolest thing, but I can’t. I give it my all, but every time she touches me, all soft and shy, I groan like I’m being murdered. She’s left my lips now, and she’s kissing along my neck.

That’s better, I can get some control back and…I think I just came. She took her tongue and swirled it behind my ear, and that’s like one of my spots. Who the fuck goes there? Why would…God, she did it again.

I’m like a puddle on the bed, and it’s embarrassing. Well it would be if I didn’t feel so good. Her lips are back on mine, her tongue’s playing with my tongue, and now her hand’s back to checking out my goodies.

I just need a sec and I’m gonna take control of this. I don’t let anybody take me, ‘specially not some little girl who clearly has no real clue what she’s doing. Nothing worse than a beginner fumbling around and oh fuck me, but now her hand’s right there.

She’s kissing down my body, moving my shirt aside, licking skin through the rip, and her hand is just sort of resting on my crotch. I try not to move, ‘cause of the whole not scaring her thing from before, but then she’s moving on her own, and I cannot stay still.

Groaning? Yes. Moving? Yes. Making a fool of myself? Probably. Whatever, because I really can’t do anything else. Her hand stays on the outside of my stupid fucking underwear, but it doesn’t really matter. If she doesn’t stop, I won’t be able to either.

I’m okay, she stopped. Fuck, that’s enough of this. I am now gonna show this little almost virgin just what fucking is all about. She’s gonna be screaming my name until her voice is gone, then it’s gonna be her ass to the curb.

Her hand slips under my underwear, her fingers moving all unsure and without any rhythm. Fuck me, this time literally, because my hips start thrusting up to meet her and I’m moaning now like I haven’t had sex in ten years. Her lips crash down on mine, hard, then she’s gone back to my ear.

She’s whispering some way sexy shit, telling me to tell her what I want, but I can’t get a real word out to save my life. Her other hand tries to join in on the fun, but it gets all tangled up in my underwear. She struggles to pull loose but can’t, and then the Slayer in her just takes over. She kinda makes this growling noise, then rips’em right the fuck offa me.

I almost lose it, but then her fingers are all over the place, kinda rubbing around, and that feels even better. I feel it building, and then somehow she hits the right spot, and I’m off and coming like an out of control freight train.

I’m not just rolling, I’m thundering down the tracks. Going way too fast to make the curve, I’m definitely gonna derail and…Jesus fucking Christ.

She holds on tight, or else she’d have been flung onto the floor or up against the wall, and it’s like fifty days later before I’m back. I’m sprawled here on the wrong side of my bed, my head resting on a lumpy ass piece of shit pillow, and B is laying on top of me placing these little “Buffy” kisses all over my face.

When she sees I’m back in the land of the sane, she smiles, then kisses me again. Then she shifts some of her weight off me, but not all of it. Her head snuggles in just under my chin, her arms and legs wrap all around me, and then she just drifts off to sleep.

I stay awake a long time, playing with her hair, rubbing lightly along her arm and back. I hate to move her, she looks so comfy, but no way is she staying. Get some, get gone, that’s my way.

I kiss the top of her head gentle like, and let myself relax. I mean really, what’s the big? It’s not like she’s running me, I still do what I want, when I want. Hell, I can just toss her later. And I will. Just don’t feel like moving now, is all.

Fuck, she’s soft. And warm. And I’m down to two pairs of underwear.