Warm lips drag me from the depths of sleep, a gentle pressure that hovers somewhere between a dream and reality. I surface slowly, blinking against the sunlight streaming through our bedroom windows. Summer's face comes into focus, those blue eyes watching me with an intensity that never wavers, even first thing in the morning.
"Hey, it's 10:30, baby," she whispers, her breath sweet against my cheek. "Don't you have an NA meeting at 11?"
My brain sluggishly processes her words as I glance at the bedside clock. Sunday morning. The red digital numbers confirm what she's saying, I've overslept. The meeting starts in half an hour, across town.
"Oh, uhh..." I rub sleep from my eyes, considering my options. The thought of rushing through my morning routine, fighting weekend traffic, just to sit through all that sounds awful. "I think I'm going to skip it today."
Summer shifts beside me, and I notice she's already dressed in a red tube top that leaves her treated chest exposed. The bandages are gone, revealing the tattoo removal sites in various stages of healing. The angry red has faded to a lighter pink, with thin scabs forming over each treated area. The spades are still very visible, but already they seem a tad bit lighter.
"How do you feel?" I ask, propping myself up on one elbow to examine her chest more carefully.
"A lot better," she says, tilting her head to study my face with that unnerving focus that's become so familiar. "The burning sensation is almost gone now."
I reach out, my fingers hovering just above the healing skin without touching. "That's good. The scabbing looks normal."
Something shifts in Summer's expression, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watches me. "I have a bone to pick with you," she says, her tone carefully neutral despite the confrontational words.
My stomach tightens instantly. "Huh?"
"I went through your laptop," Summer says, her voice steady but with an unmistakable edge. "I saw your search history."
Heat floods my face immediately. My mind races through what might be lurking in my browser history from the months she was gone. Those long, lonely nights when my only companions were insomnia and porn.
"Well," I manage, trying to sound casual despite my burning cheeks, "I wasn't exactly hiding what I searched while you were gone."
Something flashes in Summer's eyes, a dangerous spark I recognize too well. Before I can react, she plants her palm firmly on my chest and pushes me back down onto the mattress, straddling me in one fluid motion.
"If you had weird fetishes," she says, her voice dropping to that husky register that bypasses my brain entirely, "all you had to do was ask."
I squirm beneath her, painfully aware of how thin the sheets between us are. "Look, I don't know what you saw, but there's nothing I really want to…"
"You have a clear clown girl fetish," she interrupts, her eyes boring into mine with laser focus.
My mouth opens and closes uselessly as fresh waves of embarrassment wash over me. Those late-night clicks suddenly feel like criminal evidence being presented in court. I can't even deny it, the evidence is right there in my search history.
"Sure," I admit weakly, not seeing the point in lying.
Summer leans closer, her expression unreadable. "And I saw that you watched well over fifty videos of women pissing into glasses and then drinking them."
My face feels like it might actually catch fire now. I didn't even realize I'd watched that many. Had I really fallen that far down that particular rabbit hole?
"Sure, but…" I start, desperate to explain.
Summer cuts me off by leaping out of bed with sudden determination. She darts across the room, her movements electric with purpose. Before I can even sit up, she's snatching an empty water glass from the nightstand.
"What are you doing?" I ask, though the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me I already know.
My suspicion is confirmed when she shimmies out of her leggings in one fluid motion, kicking them aside while holding the glass triumphantly.
"Summer, don't you fucking dare piss into that glass," I warn, my voice dropping an octave as I scramble to sit up.
Her eyes widen with excitement, a manic grin spreading across her face. "Come on, Scott," she purrs, positioning herself over the glass. "Don't pretend you haven't thought about it. Do you want to jerk off on me while I do it, don't you?"
A new Heat floods my face, not from embarrassment this time but from rising anger. "I'm serious, Summer. If you piss on our bedroom floor, I'm going to be very angry with you."
The threat has the opposite effect of what I intended. Her eyes light up with a hungry gleam, her pupils dilating visibly. She rocks forward on her heels, abandoning her position over the glass to crawl toward me on the bed.
"Well," she whispers, her voice thick with desire, "I would absolutely love to be the target of your anger, Scotty."
The intensity in her expression is unnerving, she's practically vibrating with anticipation at the thought of me being angry with her. I can see it in every line of her body, she wants me to snap, to lose control.
"I need you to understand something," I say, pushing back against the bed's headboard to create some distance. "Not all fantasies are meant to translate from the screen to real life."
Summer pauses, her predatory crawl halting mid-motion. Her head tilts to one side, curiosity replacing the manic enthusiasm.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"I mean…" I run my hand through my sleep-tousled hair, choosing my words carefully. "Just because I've watched certain things online doesn't mean I actually want to experience them. I don't want you to drink your own piss. Hell, I don't want to watch you piss at all."
Summer settles back on her heels. A slow smile spreads across her face, not the dangerous one from before, but something more contemplative.
"Scotty," she says with a hint of amusement, "a piss fetish is hardly the most damning kink someone can have. Everyone's got their thing."
"I know that," I sigh, relieved she's not actively trying to fill the glass anymore. "But there's a difference between clicking on something at 3 AM when you're bored and lonely versus actually wanting it in your bedroom."
She sets the glass on the nightstand and shifts closer to me, her movements more measured now. "What about the clown thing, then?" she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. "Makeup? Red nose? That one could translate better, right?"
The question catches me off guard, and I find myself actually considering it. "That one..." I pause, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "That one could actually be a lot of fun."
Summer's face lights up with genuine delight, and for a moment, she looks like the girl I fell in love with years ago.
"I knew it!" she exclaims, bouncing slightly on the mattress. "I could totally pull off the clown look. I've always been good with makeup."
I laugh despite myself, the tension in the room dissipating like morning fog. "Let's maybe start with something less elaborate," I suggest, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We don't need to dive straight into the deep end."
Summer's eyes suddenly widen, and she gasps loudly. "Oh fuck!" she exclaims, diving across the bed to grab her phone from her nightstand. Her fingers fly across the screen, tapping frantically.
I watch her with growing apprehension as that familiar manic energy returns to her movements. She looks up at me with a gleam in her eyes that makes my stomach tighten.
"I bet you'd actually love to watch me drink my own piss while dressed as a clown," she says, her voice breathless with excitement. "Think about it, two birds, one stone, right?"
I exhale heavily, closing my eyes for a moment. When I open them, Summer is staring at me expectantly.
"You're not saying no," she points out, her eyes growing impossibly wide again. "I knew it!"
"Summer, that's not," I start, but she's already back to tapping on her phone with renewed enthusiasm.
"There's a party supply store ten minutes from here," she announces, not looking up from the screen. "They open at noon. We could get everything we need, makeup, red nose, rainbow wig..." Her voice trails off as she continues scrolling.
I reach over and gently take the phone from her hands. "Let's slow down," I say, setting it on the nightstand out of her reach. "This isn't a race."
She pouts, bottom lip jutting out in exaggerated disappointment. "But I want to make you happy, Scott. I want to fulfill your fantasies."
"I really appreciate your enthusiasm," I say, running a hand over my face. "But honestly, I'm exhausted. Let's just have a lazy day today, Summer."
The words have barely left my mouth when her entire demeanor transforms. That frantic energy doesn't disappear, it redirects, her eyes glossing over with even more excitement as she abandons her phone plans and practically dives under the covers with me. She wiggles herself closer, still completely pantsless, her exposed body pressing against mine with eager warmth.
"Wait, be careful, be careful," I warn, gently placing my hand on her shoulder to slow her movements. I nod toward the healing tattoo removal sites on her chest. "Your scabs. Don't want to break them open."
Summer looks down at her chest, seemingly surprised to rediscover her healing wounds. "Oh," she says, adjusting her position more carefully. Her hand slides beneath the sheets, finding my thigh with practiced ease. "I can be gentle."
"That's not what I meant," I sigh, though I don't push her hand away. There's something comforting about her touch, even when it's laced with this desperate need to please me. "I just meant we could actually relax. Watch a movie, order takeout later. No clowns, no... other stuff."
Summer's hand pauses on my thigh, her eyes darting around the room like she's suddenly remembered something important. "So, uhhh..." she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "what do you want to watch?"
I study her face, noting the barely contained anticipation in her eyes. She's clearly got something specific in mind, trying to seem casual about it. I know this look, I've seen it countless times over the years when she's pretending not to have a preference but absolutely does.
And honestly, I know exactly which movie she's thinking of.
"Well," I say, stretching my arms above my head, "it's been a while since we watched certain things..."
Her eyes light up, though she's fighting to keep her expression neutral. "Since what?" she asks, attempting to sound nonchalant as she fiddles with the edge of the sheet.
I can't help but smile at her terrible acting. She's never been good at hiding her excitement, even when she's trying her hardest to seem indifferent.
"Do you want to watch Grease?" I ask directly.
The facade crumbles instantly, her face breaking into that genuine smile that still makes my heart skip. "Well," she says with exaggerated casualness, "if you insist."
I grab the remote from the nightstand, tapping through the streaming menu without leaving the warm cocoon of blankets we've created. Summer's excitement is palpable, radiating from her like heat as she snuggles closer, her body practically vibrating with anticipation.
"You know," she says, pressing her lips to my shoulder, "I'm going to sing along to every single song." Her leg slides over mine, the intimate press of her bare skin against my thigh is a snail trail, making it hard to concentrate on finding the movie.
"I figured as much."