So Shelly by Ty Roth

gaze. Gordon turned his back to her and inch by agonizing inch tugged his khakis past his bare hips and ass (he never wore underwear) and let them drop and puddle at his ankles and cover his deformed foot, pausing to allow her to drink him in. When he turned full frontal toward Caroline, she gasped, fell flat on her back, and watched him approach through her widespread knees.
    Later, she wouldn’t remember the sequence of movements that left her lying naked. The only experience she could compare it with was the time when she volunteered to be hypnotized during an assembly at her high school. Her friends had accused her of acting when she’d claimed that she couldn’t remember what she’d done under the hypnotist’s sway, but she knew she’d succumbed to a force beyond her control, and it happened again with Gordon. She would, however, never forget and forevermore seek to repeat the sexual awakening that she experienced in that Holiday Inn, and she would forever love, hate, and haunt the man who unleashed and then left her.
    Caroline was not a virgin, but sex had been rough, brief, and disappointing on those previous occasions. She hadnever experienced an orgasm. With Gordon, she had one before he entered her. Then another before he carelessly finished inside her.
    In the half-light of the next morning, Gordon woke with Caroline already straddling him. With her in the final throes of a transcendent screw, applause and calls of “Bravo!” and “Encore!” burst from somewhere in the room. The shock of which launched Caroline off of Gordon and sent her sprawling in terror across the room, where she tripped backward over the lacrosse bag and landed flat on her pretty little ass. Legs akimbo, she lay staring into the leering faces of Dadeno, Justin Terlander, and David Thurston, who were recording the entire performance on Dadeno’s phone.
    As she rose to her feet and stripped Dadeno’s bed of its duvet in order to cover her nakedness, Caroline read “Knights Lacrosse” on the equipment bag that lay at her feet, from which the taped handle of a stick extended. Shamelessly, Caroline dropped the duvet, extricated the stick, and started swinging at the boys, who, despite repeated slashes against their shielding forearms, laughed hysterically and gladly suffered blows in exchange for the view of the hot naked chick.
    Only the arrival of Brother Lombardy in full collar and Coach Abbott, in boxer shorts and more body hair than an evolved man should be expected to bear, brought the burlesque to a close. One by one, Coach Abbott grabbed each boy by the nape of the neck and peeled him from the room. Brother Lombardy advanced until he spotted Gordon, nakedand propped up on his elbows, bemusedly watching the bad vaudevillian skit that he’d initiated.
    Caroline dropped the stick (there have been only three substantiated lacrosse-related deaths in the United States in nearly twenty years) and wrapped the duvet around her.
    “Young lady, do you need help?” Brother Lombardy asked in a despair-filled voice, his eyes averted.
    “No. I just want to go home.”
    “That’s fine. Gordon, we’ll need to talk as soon as you’re dressed,” Brother Lombardy said, before turning and exiting, leaving behind all his dreams of adding Gordon to the brotherhood, dreams mingled and lost in the intoxicating smell of sex that still permeated the room.
    “Gordon? You told me your name was Will!” Caroline said.
    Gordon lay unmoved and silent.
    “You’re no mayor either, are you?”
    No response.
    “Are you even in college?”
    The evidence was beginning to pile up: the bag, the boys, the chaperones.
    “What are you? In high school?” Her voice rose several octaves.“Don’t tell me you’re in high school! How old are you?”
    “Fifteen,” Gordon finally spoke.
    “Fifteen! I just fucked a fifteen-year-old!”
    “Well,” Gordon corrected himself, “actually, I won’t be fifteen until January.” He grinned.
    “That’s