I’m sitting in the cafeteria, ignoring the boring conversation that my friends are having about - not really sure, actually - looking around aimlessly. OK, that’s a lie. It’s not aimless, I’m checking out the girls, of course.

My eyes come to rest on Kya Edwards. I guess the look she’s going for is sort of goth-ish, but, strangely, it kind of works on her. She’s a year below me, which makes her sixteen, and she’s a bit of a loner who normally stamps her way round school in her black, patent-leather Doctor Martens boots, with her head down. On the odd occasion that she raises her eyes to look at the world, it’s with a thousand-watt glare that could strip paint at a hundred yards. But she’s cute. In fact, at five-one or five-two, she’s a tiny bundle of cuteness.

She’s reading something on her phone and, not for the first time, I wonder if she’s got a nice body under that loose black sweatshirt and the black cargo pants. It’s pretty much impossible to tell, but now that I have the chance to admire her face properly, I do just that, and she really is pretty cute. As far as I can tell, she wears next to no makeup, but her huge, dark, almost black eyes and long lashes, her high cheekbones, and her full lips are ... well, they’re making me feel all-- I was going to say horny, but it’s not just that. I absolutely love_ the way she looks.

She picks just that moment to look up, straight at me, and, yes, there it is: the deeply furrowed brows and those beautiful eyes trying to bore a hole in my face. I’m guessing that most people who she unleashes that glare on look away just as fast as they can, but I’m fascinated. I meet her gaze and allow one side of my mouth to curl up just slightly. Her brow creases a little more, presumably in frustration, and I let the smile reach my eyes.

We stare at each other for just a little longer before I get up and walk over to her table. Her frown and her glare don’t waver, not for a moment, even as I sit down opposite her.

“Hi, I’m Gavin,” I say cheerfully.

“I know who you are,” she says sullenly. “You’re Gavin Richards, and you seem to be trying to fuck every girl in my year. I’m not interested.”

Wow! She doesn’t fuck about! I sort of appreciate her honesty, though, and decide to go the same way.

“I’ve actually only fucked two girls in your year. We had a lovely time, and I’m still very much friends with both of them,” I answer. “And I don’t recall offering you anything to refuse.”

“Huh. I thought it was a lot more than that,” she says, looking puzzled. Still pissed, but puzzled too.

“I have no idea what you’ve heard, and none of it is from me,” I explain patiently. “I’ve never told anyone the details of what my friends and I get up to,” I continue, “but you did say ‘fuck’ and that’s very specific.”

“So, you don’t always fuck them, then?” she asks, looking interested. Pissed and interested, now.

“That depends entirely on the girl.”

“So ... erm...?” she says, clearly a bit flustered, but still interested.

I lean forward and, interestingly, so does she. “I love eating pussy,” I whisper. When I lean back, she’s blushing furiously. “Have you ever...?” I ask, and the blush deepens. “You haven’t, have you, Kya?”

I guess that I’ve pushed too hard, because suddenly her expression is mostly pissed again. “So you go down on them, and you expect a hand job or a blow job in return?” she hisses.

“I don’t expect anything at all,” I say, looking into her gorgeously flashing eyes. “But sometimes she’s so grateful that she wants to show it.”

“Grateful?” she asks. “You really think that you’re that good?”

We both lean forward again. “You know how good it feels when you touch yourself with your fingers?” Her eyes flash again, and she nods almost imperceptibly. “And it’s even nicer when your fingers are wet?” Another nod. “But you can’t touch your clit directly, because it’s so sensitive?” She raises an eyebrow at that, but then nods faintly again. “Now imagine something softer and gentler than your fingers, like maybe a tongue, or lips, or both.” I can see her thinking about that, and she shifts in her seat, as if a little ... uncomfortable ... or warm. “Teasing your little clit out of its hidey-hole ... and sucking gently on it.” Her eyes glaze over a little, as if she’s imagining exactly how gorgeous that would feel. I can see from the rapid rise and fall of her chest that my words have hit home, “And your nipples, let’s not forget those,” I add, looking directly at the hard little points now showing through her top.

She looks down at herself, and then utters a tiny, squealed, “Don’t!”, before covering her boobs with her arms and looking around to see if anyone else has noticed. It’s the first time that she’s shown any vulnerability at all, and suddenly my heart is beating faster, and it’s me who’s breathing hard.

I look up into his eyes, his beautiful, ridiculously pale blue eyes, and see not a trace of unkindness there at all. I’ve looked into the mean eyes of some guys who were dicks, but I see nothing like that in his. Not even any smugness either, surprisingly.

For some reason, I feel really comfortable talking to him, even given the subject matter, and that scares me a little: he’s so gorgeous, and he must fucking know it. But he seems genuinely nice.

“Give me your phone,” he says to me softly, putting out his hand. I’m not sure at first, and then reluctantly hand it over. He puts his cell number in it.

“Why do you hate everyone on sight?” he asks.

“It saves time,” I answer, deadpan. He thinks about that for a few seconds, then he starts laughing so hard that people around begin to stare at us.

“I like you, Kya. Think about what I said,” he says, before getting up and heading off in the direction of the john.

“Whatever,” I mutter, going for indifference, but my heart’s really not in it.

I try to get myself off that night, but what he said about lips and tongues and my clit, keeps running through my mind, and in the end, I give up in frustration.

That doesn’t stop me from lying there, fingers brushing my vulva, imagining how those full lips of his would really feel. And his tongue. Fuck! At that moment, I want him so badly, it makes my fucking heart ache.

I’m at my locker the next morning when Amy Archer sidles up to me. Getting way too close, she whispers, “Was that really Gavin Richards talking to you in the cafeteria yesterday?”

“Yes,” I reply, a little curtly: we’ve only spoken twice before, I think, and I have no idea why she’s getting all up in my business all of a sudden.

“He’s so dreamy,” she gushes. I just stare at her as she sighs and goes all wistful. Then she leans in even closer. “Do you want to know what I heard Michelle calling him?” Michelle is like Zendaya or maybe Rihanna, only inasmuch as she only needs the one name. She is also undeniably hot, and, annoyingly, not quite as much of an airhead as most of the other cheerleader-type girls. I hate myself a little as I find myself nodding. “The pussy whisperer,” she says with glee. “Are you--” she begins, but I slam my locker shut and walk away.

After my first class, I catch sight of Gavin in the corridor, and instantly, heat is rushing through me, and my heart is fluttering.

I can’t stop thinking about him, and I begin to wonder if he’s really as discreet as he makes out. Thinking back, I realize that I’ve only ever heard rumours about him from other girls, never the brash, boastful teasing that the jocks indulge in.

At the end of the next class, I stay behind and text, ‘Were you serious?’ to him, my hands shaking as I type. My phone vibrates with a response during the lesson, but I don’t dare to look at it until the class is over.

I get a huge surge of happiness when I see Kya’s text. What amazes me is that it’s not just the prospect of maybe getting to make love to her pussy, but just to spend some more time with her.

‘Absolutely. Cafeteria?’ I reply.

‘No. Bleachers. After school’

‘OK’

Luckily, or maybe cleverly, there’s no practice that evening, so there’s almost nobody about as I wait for her.

It’s only a few minutes before she turns up and sits down next to me. “So, you were serious?” she asks, and it’s almost an accusation. I can see that she’s all tense, and I think that I understand: she’s risking a lot just by asking. If I were the sort of asshole that spreads rumours ... but I’m not.

“I was absolutely serious,” I reply softly. “And you have my word that whatever happens - if anything happens - not a soul will ever know.”

She visibly relaxes. “Where?”

“I could get a motel room?” I suggest, but she screws her nose up. “Or at my house.”

“What about your parents?”

“It’s just my mom,” I reply. “And she’s cool. Although she will insist on meeting you.”

“Oh, God.”

“Honestly, it’s nothing major. It’s just her rule if I want to take anyone up to my room. Or have them stay the night.”

She sits there in silence for what seems like a long time. I wonder if she’s thinking about what I said to her. I certainly am. And it’s working wonders.

“I’m not busy right now...?” I put out there. “Just sayin’.”

“Really? Now?” she says, looking up at me with those gorgeous dark eyes. And she’s nibbling on her lower lip. I love it when girls do that.

“Uh-huh,” I reply, trying to be casual, and not let on how fucking excited I am at the prospect of getting up close and personal with her pussy.

“Nothing more?” she asks, and I can tell that she’s almost decided.

“Not unless you want to...”

As we walk to my old Honda Civic, it’s like I’m walking on air. It’s not just the pussy eating that I’m looking forward to - although I very much am - I want to see her smile. I’m sure she’s got a killer smile, but I haven’t seen it yet.

We don’t say too much on the drive, and, as I open the front door, I can hear Mom in the kitchen. Kya looks a bit nervous, and I squeeze her hand gently. “It’ll be fine, honestly.”

“Hi, Mom. This is Kya,” I say, introducing them.