Homeschool

Iron Chef is probably the stupidest show to ever air on t.v. Not only is it ridiculous (and unsanitary) to force people to prepare and cook meals on a tight timeline, but the dishes that they are challenged with are barbaric.



Chicken fetus? For real? Chazz, of course, was on the edge of his seat, rooting for the Chick Chef with the Big Jugs over the Fat Dude Chef with the Big Jugs. I was hoping to get through it all without throwing up. Generally, the show alone is enough to make me nauseous, but I was pretty queasy from what I had agreed to do earlier that afternoon.



Skates or no skates, he couldn't stop me from counting, so there I sat on one corner of the couch, counting to sixteen over and over again. Sixteen is such a comforting number. Most skating programs are based on music, which, of course, is based on 4/4 time, which is usually broken down into four measures, or sixteen beats.



I usually count when I'm on the ice, but there it's not for protection, it's to know where I am in the routine. Our Detroiter lift was exactly sixteen beats long. Well, it should have been, if I hadn't flubbed the dismount, but the number still made me happy.



I might have fallen asleep there, drifting between my numbers and the sound of frying unborn chicken babies, but Chazz's disgusting slurping noises kept bringing me out of my contemplative state. I cracked an eye and watched him cramming some sort of putrid wrinkly orange turds in his mouth.



"Hey Chazz, can you keep the sewer noises to a minimum?"



He stopped shoving stuff into his cake-hole and spared me a glance.



"Sewer, huh? I'll give you a sewer right away." He lifted one butt-cheek off the couch and farted.



"Oh crap! You are so vile! By the way, Hell called, and they want their brimstone back."



"Yeah? Shirly Temple called, she wants her hair-do back."



"Oh yeah? Jabba the Hut called, he wants his fat-ass gut back."



"Ha!" Chazz lifted his shirt and rubbed his belly, while I tried not to stare, "Jabba WISHES he was this sexy." He absently dragged a finger through the soft curls on his midriff.



I stopped counting, and watched that hand tracing slow figure eights around his navel. The hair grew much thicker and darker below his belly button, almost making a line, or trail, leading down to ….



"Jimmy?"



"Huh?" I dragged my gaze from his torso to his face.



"I SAID," he huffed, "that Princess Leia called, and she wants her vagina back. It was funny. How come you didn't laugh?"



I shrugged. "Oh, I uh..I guess I didn't…"



"Hey!" he crowed, not waiting for my response, "Speaking of vaginas, I've got a good lesson for you!"



"Oh god, I don't like the way this sounds, Chazz. I think I'm too tired for any lessons tonight."



"No, no! It'll be fun. And no kissing."



I masked my disappointment as I nodded my approval. "Okay, what is it?"



"Have you ever given face?"



"What?"



"You know, gone muff diving? Eaten a fuzz sandwich? French kissed Mr. Lincoln?"



"Oh, sweet Jesus, Chazz! That's disgusting!"



"No way! Oh little bro, you haven't lived until you've tasted a woman's honeyed nectar. Honestly, if you want a chick to fall in love with you fast, you've gotta learn how to give an Australian kiss."



"What's an Australian kiss?"



Chazz smiled in his self-satisfied way and waggled his eyebrows. "It's like a French kiss, but it's Down Under."



I shook my head and hunkered down into the couch. "Sorry, Chazz, I just don't think I could do that."



"I'm telling you Jimmy, man to man, if you do this right, no woman can resist you. Hell, I had to get restraining orders against a few of them. Once you've had the Chazz, everything else is just … uh … not the Chazz. Know what I mean?"



I shook my head no. I did not know what he meant. At all.



"Today is your lucky day, my friend. Never before have I shared the secrets of my superior cunnilingual skills, but because you are my brother, I am going to gift you with that knowledge. And maybe one day, you will pass this on to somebody else, so that these skills never die." He paused for a moment, imagining future generations of sex-pigs like himself, imbued with the knowledge of the truly twisted. "It's my legacy. Plus, Katie will be putty in your hands. Or mouth. Whatever."



Chazz reached into the snack-bag. "Here, take this." He placed one of the mystery orange turds on my outstretched palm.



"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what is this?"



He shrugged. "Dried somethings." Chazz picked up the snack-bag and scanned the front. "Apricots, what ever the hell an apricot is. But it doesn't matter. What DOES matter is the shape of these beauties. They almost perfectly mimic the human vagina."



I looked at the shriveled, wrinkly prune in my hand and sincerely hoped he was wrong. I had never seen a real, live vagina, but I did own a computer, and this certainly didn't resemble anything I had seen online.



"Take it like this," he said, picking up his apricot and carefully hooking his thumbs along the edge of it, then gently peeling it apart. "Then, when you've got it started, get your tongue in there and work it all the way open."



Still holding the delicate edges, Chazz pressed the fruit to his mouth and pushed his tongue into the small slit that his fingers had made. "Once you've got it good and open, work around in there to loosen it up."



He ran his tongue back and forth through the small cleft, and my own apricot dropped from my hands, forgotten. "Now," he continued, "on a real woman, there's a very special little button at the front here that you want to pay particular attention to."



He wiggled his tongue back and forth across the front of the apricot and I felt a familiar surge in my groin. "Oh yeah," he said, "they love that. This little toggle here -the clit- you wanna think of that as her doorbell. You've gotta ring that puppy before she'll let you in. And if she's kind of freaky, you can try knocking on her back door too!"



He slid his mouth to the back of the fruit and licked it thoroughly there as well. Something odd was happening to me while I watched him slurping away there. All sorts of feelings were flooding through me that I didn't fully understand, but all I knew was that I wanted to be that apricot. Oh God! I've never been so jealous of a little dried turd before in my life.



"Okay," he said, finally taking mercy on me and popping that well-sucked fruit into his mouth and chewing on it, "your turn." He motioned to the coffee table, so I took a seat there, across from him. He handed me another apricot and I turned it over in my hands, searching for the seam.



"Right there," he said, leaning close to me and running his finger along the ridge where the pit had been removed. I gingerly pinched each side and eased it open. "Yeah, that's it," he smiled, "now get your mouth on there."



I held the spongy fruit up to my face and sniffed. It wasn't unpleasant. I tentatively licked along the edge, teasing my tongue between the folds. Chazz hummed his approval, and I pressed in deeper, relishing the sweet, moist flesh at the center.



"Now the clit. Do the clit," he breathed. I moved my mouth forward and ran my tongue over where this mythical doorbell was supposed to exist, then placed my lips over it and sucked.



"Oh, fuck yeah," moaned Chazz, "you've got it. She'll love that. Now underneath."



I looked up in confusion. "Underneath what?"



"Your tongue. Use the underside there."



"Why?"



"Here." He took my hand and proceeded to wrap his mouth around my index finger. "Close your eyes and feel the difference." He ran the pad of his tongue over the tip of my finger. "Got that?"



I nodded mutely. I was suddenly jealous of my own finger.



"Now compare it to this," He pushed my finger under his tongue, and I gasped. It was warmer, and slicker, and smoother, and I suddenly had much bigger plans for that tongue. He licked a spiral around my finger, then drew it in all the way to the third knuckle and suckled on it.



My eyes were still closed, but fluttered open at the undulating pressure of his tongue. The sight of my finger between his lips made me dizzy so I closed them again.



"Please don't." I begged.



"Look at me, Jimmy," he whispered, releasing my hand.



"No, I can't."



"What are you afraid of?"



I slowly opened my eyes and dared a peek at his face. His cheeks had a nice flush, and his lips were still moist from sucking on my finger. When he ran his tongue over the bottom one, I did the only thing that I could think of to do.



I launched myself at him.



I landed in his lap, hands grasping, mouth searching, lips meeting his, teeth crashing and tongues twining. His surprised grunt became a moan of pleasure, and it was the only encouragement I needed. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged upwards. He raised his arms and we pulled it up and over his head.



My hands found his chest, luxuriating in the soft curls there, and soon my mouth had worked its way down his neck and lower, tonguing across the dark hair, until my lips closed around one soft, pink nub. I circled it with my tongue, then pursed and sucked. His hands found my hair and pressed me firmly to his chest.



When he moaned again, it reverberated through his chest, vibrating against my lips. Then he was pulling me back up to plunder my mouth, his hands slipping down my back to clumsily tug my shirt off as well.



Soon we were chest to chest, skin to skin, bodies rubbing, hands exploring, touching, pinching. Soft sighs, encouraging groans, and frying chicken embryos were the only sounds punctuating the not-quite silence.



Chazz slid his hands down my back to the curve of my ass and pulled me close, grinding up against me from below. Oh Sweet God, we were both so hard, and to have him rubbing himself against me like that was heaven.



The thin layers of cotton and polyester did nothing to hide our excitement. I rubbed myself along the firm contour of his length and he tightened his grip and pressed back.



Holy hell! This was it! I was going to … you know, do it! Right here. With Chazz. Me and Chazz! He pushed his hips up to meet mine while I ground against him and I pressed my forehead into his shoulder, holding on for dear life.



"Chazz," I moaned, chin pressed into his collarbone, "I think … Oh God! I think-"



"Don't think, Jimmy, just-"



The shrill ring of Coach's phone sliced through the room, and we both jumped, surprised and guilty.



"Coach," said Chazz, reaching for the phone, "he probably forgot his keys."



"Nooo," I groaned, still rubbing against him, and when Chazz pressed a finger to my lips to shush me, I opened my mouth and let it slip inside. I ran my tongue along the length of it, as he had done to me, then pressed it to the roof of my mouth and sucked.



"Hhhuulo?" he groaned into the receiver. I smirked around his finger and sucked again, but instead of succumbing, Chazz jerked straight up, practically pushing me off his lap.



"Katie!"



Chazz's finger dropped from my lips and a feeling of horror rippled through me. Oh crap! What was I doing? I had a girlfriend! Why was I making out with my best friend? Chazz pushed the phone towards me and I shook my head no. I couldn't talk to her right now. Chazz nodded insistently and tossed the receiver at me, as if it might explode.



"K-Katie? Um, hi. Yeah. No, uh, no, I was just um … sitting here on Chazz, with the couch. I mean, WITH Chazz, ON the couch." Oh shit! I was so bad at this! "Tonight? Uh, sure. Okay. I'll meet you there in an hour. Right. Okay."



I dropped the phone back into the receiver and blinked dumbly at Chazz. Had we really been doing what we had just been doing? I suddenly felt very naked, and aware that I was pretty much sitting right on top of Chazz's still hard … thing.



I scrambled off his lap and stood up, holding my shirt to my chest. I felt awkward and conflicted. And seeing him sitting there, alone, made me oddly sad.



"Big date?" he offered cheerfully.



"Yeah. I guess so. I should … get ready." I shrugged.



"Go take a shower," he offered, "I'll pick out something for you to wear."



"Thanks," I said, and headed off to the bathroom.