misha writes. duh.

She didn’t know what to do, or how to explain the way she was feeling. Her entire body tingled in a way it never had. She tried to concentrate, to get her bearings, to not let her hormones run away with her as her father had put it. He never told her that her hormones would put up such a good fight.

It was so hard to concentrate with his lips on her neck, and his hand down there. He probably knew exactly what he was doing to her. He was Greg Dahl after all. She had seen him around school at the beginning of 9^th grade, before he had dropped out. He was a second year senior then. The type of boy grown ups considered a loser for all the reason teenagers worshipped him. He smoked, played in a band, and didn’t give a shit. An adolescent god.

The way this night had started, how she got where she was now, was because Lindley, her best friend, had a crush on the hot lead singer of the band Greg Dahl drummed for. They had rode the train into the city, bought fake ID’s on McDougal, and headed over to the seedy club where the band was playing their first gig. Her parents thought she was at Lindley’s house for an all night study session. Lindley’s parents thought she was in the city sneaking into a club to see the older guy she just might be in love with. She envied the fact that Lindley didn’t have to lie to her parents.

It wasn’t until the third song and fourth drink in that she had started paying any kind of attention to the band. Once her eyes fell on Greg Dahl, Greg Dahl became the band. He was in his own world, beating on the drums like they were the last thing on earth and he was using them to recreate the universe. It was that epic. How had she not seen any of this before? His flexing muscles. The tight grip he had on this drum sticks. The way his forehead creased, like it knew the monumental importance of this moment.

And just when she thought it couldn’t get any bigger, he looked up, and they locked eyes. Her instinct was to look away. To not get caught staring, love struck, like the fifteen year old girl that she was. That’s what she would have done if she could get her brain working, but it had gone on a vacation in Greg Dahl’s eyes.

He didn’t miss a beat. He kept drumming and staring. Staring and drumming. She crossed her arms over her body, suddenly feeling naked. It was like she was having that dream where you’re doing a presentation in class, and suddenly you’re standing in front of everyone, naked. Everyone that mattered now, sat on stage, drumming. 

Four shots and a vodka sour later, Greg Dahl was standing in front of her. Two Greg Dahl’s were merging and splitting right before her eyes. And she was right outside of wasted, so talking to him was easy. All she had to do was concentrate on hearing his words instead of just focusing on his lips. And even though she couldn’t understand herself, she was amazed at how he just got her. At how he could take her in with a look and understand everything about her tragic over privileged suburban life. At how his hand on her thigh wasn’t enough, even though with most boys it always had been.

It was already four am when they got on the train to go back to Long Island. Lindley sat three seats up with the hot lead singer. She sat three seats back with Greg Dahl. That’s how she got where she was now. Three seats back in an almost empty train car at four am with her tongue down Greg Dahl’s throat and his hand down her pants. Two seats in front of the old lady trying not to watch her and Greg Dahl go as far as she had ever gone with a guy in public or private. One seat back from her sensible self, who never took off her clean white dress. And for a second, she thought of going all the way, right there in the subway car, a la Risky Business. But she had stopped drinking an hour ago and it was starting to show. Her sensible self turned in her seat and whispered into her ear. She wanted to be the girl that acted first and thought later, but her heart led a life her mind couldn’t provide. The train hit the breaks and gravity pushed her forward. Her sensible self merged with the subway slut version one seat back as the speakers blared, “New Hyde Park. Long Island.”  

The doors slid open. Air whooshed in. Fresh air. Thank God.