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“Don’t stop on my account, darlin’,” Lydia heard from the corner of her dark bedroom. Her scream would’ve certainly awoken Delia and Dad, if they’d been around. Fortunately, Dad had left on a birdwatching retreat that morning, and Delia’s speaking tour around New England had been going on for at least a week.
She’d recognize that low, growly voice anywhere, though.
“Bite me,” Lydia hissed. She drew the covers further up over herself and discreetly wiped her hand on the fitted sheet. “Nobody asked you to be here. Go away.”
Betelgeuse chuckled and emerged from the shadows. He looked…well, the same as he’d looked one of the first times she’d seen him, in a ratty bathrobe and pajamas. “Hey, baby, slow down,” he said, shaking a cigarette out of a pack he’d pulled from somewhere. “Gonna give a guy ideas.”
“And anyway,” he continued, “rude way to greet your ex-fiancé.”
Lydia’s gorge rose. “We weren’t really engaged,” she said, slowly. “I was fifteen.”
“Yeah, an old maid by fifteenth-century standards,” Betelgeuse said, taking a long drag on his cigarette and winking one sunken eye at her. “Just thought I felt somethin’ from ya, is all.”
Oh God. Lydia shrunk further into her bedsheets. “Nope. Definitely not. Go away.”
Betelgeuse cackled. “No can do, babe.” He took an exaggerated sniff, moldy nostrils flaring. “C’mon, lemme see. You seemed pretty…hard up, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
This was worse than hearing Dad and Delia going at it. “It wasn’t gonna do anything anyway,” Lydia said, crossing her arms. “It never does.”
“Never?” Betelgeuse asked. He drifted forward, too smoothly to be walking. “Never ever?”
Lydia really, really didn’t want to go into her unfortunate history with hairbrush handles, the pills she was taking for depression that deadened her urge to hurl herself off the roof but also muted everything else. But glancing up, in the dark of her room, the face she saw opposite hers looked…concerned.
“No,” Lydia mumbled, curling in on herself. “I…something’s wrong with me, I think.” She pressed her lips together. Hopefully he’d take the hint and leave.
Unfortunately for her, the springs of her bed creaked, a weight sinking down right by her feet. “That fuckin’ sucks,” Betelgeuse said. “Sorry, kiddo.” A cold hand patted her knee through the fabric of her sheets.
“God, stop it,” Lydia snapped. “Don’t be condescending. It’s the worst. I get that enough from Dad and the army of shrinks.”
“Honest to God,” Betelgeuse said, holding up both hands. “That sounds goddamn terrible.” He stabbed the cherry of his cigarette out on her comforter - Lydia nearly yelled at him for that, too, but the fabric didn’t look like it was burning or anything.
“How’s yer technique?”
“My what?”
“C’mon now,” Betelgeuse said, easy, like they were talking about the weather instead of…of masturbation. “Flickin’ the bean. How are you at it? Studied up? Or you just…” he made a lewd gesture with one hand. “Brute forcing it? ‘Cause, lemme tell ya, it’s an art, not a science.”
“Gross,” Lydia said, but…well, he was already here, and she’d die before she told any of this to Adam or Barbara, or, God forbid, Delia. “Um,” she continued, swallowing hard. “I’ve never been able to…”
“Come.”
“Climax,” Lydia said, her face burning. “I wanted to try again, but it’s…it’s hard. I can get…aroused, but not…”
Betelgeuse nodded. “Mhm, mhm, I gotcha.” He snapped his fingers and the sheets folded themselves back. “Show Doctor BJ the problem.”
“You are not a doctor,” Lydia snapped, squeezing her legs together. Her nightshirt was pretty long, reaching all the way down to her bony knees, but being exposed to him like this felt so, so dirty. Wrong.
But the way Betelgeuse looked at her, like she was genuinely interesting and not a gangly seventeen-year-old who was still growing into herself…
That made her flush with more than embarrassment.
“Lemme see,” he said, his gravelly voice softer. One cold thumb stroked the inside of her knee. Lydia shivered and, reluctantly, parted her legs, only a few inches. He raised his eyebrows at her and made a “keep going” gesture with his hand. Lydia heaved a sigh and ratcheted them open a little further.
“There we go,” Betelgeuse said. Lydia’s nightshirt rode up to her thighs with the movement, and he seemed to be scanning over her legs (that she hadn’t shaved in weeks, but he didn’t look like he noticed or cared). “That’s it, baby.”
“Stop it with the pet names,” Lydia huffed. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and pulled her nightshirt up, exposing the damp cotton of her panties.
Betelgeuse went ominously silent for a minute. Then fingers snapped, and Lydia felt cool air against her mound. “Wait, no, don’t…”
Except she squeaked when she felt a finger slide along the slick flesh of her vulva. “Pretty li’l peach,” she heard Betelgeuse say. “Nothin’ broken about it. Just ain’t quite ripe yet, huh?”
God, this was awkward. Lydia’s face burned. “D-don’t you need to do a more…thorough examination to see that?” she asked, then immediately regretted her words, ice shooting through her belly.
With one eye cracked open, she could see Betelgeuse peering at her like an object of study, like she was a dead frog in biology class. “If you insist,” he said, winking up at her, and then a mossy, grimy fingertip slipped in between her outer lips.
She’d tried penetration before, obviously. Even tried sitting on her hand until it felt numb and tingly to maybe approximate how someone else’s might feel. But Betelgeuse’s corpse finger touched her so delicately, the chipped surface of his fingernail not even scraping her a little, that Lydia couldn’t help but open up for him.
It had never felt like that before.
“Perfect,” she heard him say. “That’s it. Just gotta relax, is all.”
He didn’t immediately shove inside her. He didn’t stroke over her clitoris, either, which surprised her. Betelgeuse just cupped her mons with his cool, rough hand and let himself…explore her. Like she was pretty, and delicate, and not a miserable lonely little creature. How many times had he done this? Lydia wondered, then hissed as the back of one finger barely brushed her sensitive bud.
She wiggled her hips, trying to urge him to touch her more, but Betelgeuse chuckled and pulled back. “Slow down, kid,” he said, and in the dark of the room his moldy yellow teeth still gleamed at her. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Or whatever they say these days.”
He didn’t seem like the type of guy to delay gratification. Was probably jerking himself off under his gross bathrobe. But when Lydia tried to peek (just to satisfy that he was doing this for selfish reasons), she could see a tent straining the checked pattern of his robe, sure, but…no movement. His other hand rested lightly on the surface of the bed. Calm.
“Relax,” Betelgeuse said, the low timbre of his voice making Lydia’s spine tingle. She dug her fingers into the bottom sheet and attempted to breathe, to loosen her hips. “If yer too worried about this shit, nothin’s ever gonna happen. Gotta go with the flow, baby.”
“Not your baby,” Lydia said, but her voice trailed off as two hairy knuckles spread her wider, baring her inner labia. “I’m seventeen, I’m not a child.”
“‘Course not,” Betelgeuse said, half to himself. A fingertip slipped into her entrance. Usually that hurt, when it was her own fingers or, God forbid, something bigger. But this time, she’d gotten so slick that he didn’t even need to work her open. There was a stretch, sure, but a nice one. A satisfying one. Lydia gasped.
“What are you…” she began, and Betelgeuse smirked. “Just helpin’ a lady out,” he purred, smug as anything. “There ya go. All nice and wet for ol’ BJ, huh?”
She wanted to protest that she wasn’t wet for him, but Lydia knew that that was a huge lie. Betelgeuse’s finger snuck inside her channel like he was supposed to be there, sliding in up to the second knuckle like it was nothing. As he did, his thumb brushed over her swollen clitoris.
“Oh,” Lydia gasped. It felt like he’d brushed a live wire, sparks singing through her body. Was this what sex was supposed to feel like, instead of uncomfortable and tight and unsatisfying? “Oh, please, that–”
“Feels good, huh?” Betelgeuse said. He made a considering noise, thumb stroking the side of her bud. “Like that?”
“Uh huh,” Lydia said. She felt hot, floaty, her hips rocking into his hand. She thought she felt the tip of another finger at her entrance and spread her legs wider. “More, more, please.”
“Good girl,” she heard. The second finger joined the first, stretching her open. “Lookit that.”
She had no idea what he was looking at - a vulva couldn’t possibly be that attractive splayed out. But Betelgeuse was practically drooling, visibly aroused, his bloodshot eyes starting to bulge out from their hollow sockets. Betelgeuse’s fingers curled inside her, stroking along the front wall of her vagina. Lydia was about to ask what he was doing before warmth curled through her body, drawing a gasp from her throat. “Oh!”
“Got it,” Betelgeuse said, triumphant. “Now we’re cookin’ with gas.”
The pads of his fingers massaged that spot inside her while his thumb continued to circle her clitoris. Lydia could feel herself squeezing tight around him, her hips rising off the bed. She needed…she needed something. Something else. It felt like her body was shaking outside of her control, a tingling building in her pelvis. Almost like she had to pee? Bizarre.
“I’m…” she began, panicked, but Betelgeuse shushed her. He’d gone silent too, just focusing on the way Lydia moved around him. Her knees shook, and the feeling in the bowl of her pelvis kept building, rising like a wave.
This had to be it, right? This had to be what the magazines she found in Delia’s closet were talking about. It couldn’t be more than this fluttery sensation in her belly, the warmth creeping up from her core.
She opened her mouth, but Betelgeuse held a finger to his lips. “Wait,” he hissed, looking deathly serious.
His fingers pressed inside her firmer, rubbing and rubbing until Lydia felt certain she was going to pee all over his hand. “No,” she said, panicked, but Betelgeuse grinned, wolfish. Her clitoris throbbed, the ache building to something…something…
Something broke.
Lydia squeaked. Her body convulsed, hips rocking helplessly against the release she hadn’t known she’d been seeking. It felt like a valve had been turned, the tension leaving her body in a gush. She felt liquid spreading underneath her, soaking her thighs and Betelgeuse’s hand. “Oh,” she gasped, her vagina clutching rhythmically as Betelgeuse kept the pace of his hand so, so steady. “Oh, oh–”
It went on forever. Just when she thought it was over, she’d been wrung dry, he pressed a little harder into the side of her clitoris and another, smaller wave crashed over her. Lydia wailed, feeling herself tighten almost painfully. It was too much. Too delicious.
When her hips finally stopped twitching, Betelgeuse’s hand retreated, his fingers exiting her vagina with a disgusting squelch. “Ain’t that better?” Lydia heard.
“Yeah,” she said, quietly. Her body felt loose, pliant. Pleasantly worked out. “Yeah, it is.”
“Good,” Betelgeuse said. Lydia squinted, her blurry eyes taking in his shock of bleached-bone hair, his weirdly soft eyes. “Next time you need a refresher…”
“I think,” Lydia croaked, “I’ll be okay.” She said one word, three times, and she was alone in her room, the house perfectly, eerily quiet.
She could take it from here.