“Shower is big enough for two,” she reported happily. “Get undressed!”

The clerk at the motel told us they only had one room left--second floor all the way back. “It’s only got one double bed, not a queen,” he warned.

“We’re only going to use one bed,” I said, and Megan giggled.

The clerk grinned and pointed at the football jersey I was still wearing. “Did we win?” He asked.

I nodded and got out of there. I knew he didn’t have any churros, and we had eaten ours on the road.

We made our way to the room, and I traded the key and bag of tacos to Megan to lug the bag she had been carrying. “You’ve got more than sodas in here,” I mentioned.

“I told you,” she said. I couldn’t tell if she blushed in the darkness, but I know I did when I remembered what she had said she brought. A sex toy, meaning a dildo. I almost stumbled thinking about it.

“I got something to go with the Cokes, too,” she added, stopping in front of the last door at the back of the motel. I looked off the walkway into the pine-and-manzanita brush of the mountain. I was guessing her other cargo would be some kind of alcohol. I’ll probably need it, I told myself.

A foggy dampness in the woods sent shivery tendrils down my back. I had ditched my helmet, cleats, and pads into the backseat of the Mom-mobile when we got to the car. I’d have to take that stuff back to school in the morning. Megan had brought shoes and a light jacket for me to wear, but October at 4000 feet can get chilly after dark, even in Arizona.

“Petey, Pete, Pete,” Megan complained from the door. “I can’t turn the key!”

“Probably corrosion in the lock,” I said. We swapped tasks, Megan taking the bags and me trying to work the stubborn door open. The key was hard to turn and bit deeply into my hand, but I managed and pushed the door open, standing out of Megan’s way as she hurried inside. Then I followed her in, sucking on the bruises the old brass key had left. “Ow,” I said.

Megan clicked light switches on, set the thermostat, and peered into the bathroom, dumping her load onto the faded and stained covering of the one bed. “Shower is big enough for two,” she reported happily. “Get undressed!”

“Tacos first,” I objected.

“Okay,” she agreed. “They’d get soggy in the shower anyway,” she said, giggling. She fetched plastic cups from near the sink, unwrapped them, and got out the bottle of Wild Turkey she had also brought while I poured cola into cups. Neither of us was old enough to buy it ourselves, and I could not possibly have sneaked anything out of my house, so her brother had probably bought it for her. Along with the dildo, which was still in the bag…

She added an ounce of whiskey to each of our cups and accused, “You don’t look excited.”

I made an excuse. “Still coming down from the game-high,” I said. I’d had bourbon and coke before, but I couldn’t say that I actually liked it. I toasted with Megan, tapping our plastic cups together. “For medicinal purposes,” I said, which at least got a giggle from my girl. From her expression, she knew exactly what I meant. I took a sip. It did taste like medicine.

We sat at the tiny table, unwrapped tacos and munched on Taco Rey’s finest offerings—which were pretty good. I didn’t finish my second taco, just staring at the last bite. There had been a day when I could have eaten six of them, even if I wasn’t particularly hungry. Megan finished both of hers and drank the last bit of salsa in the tiny paper cup.

She made a face, and we both took quick gulps of our drink. Then she produced half a churro she had evidently saved. We split the treat—there’s always room for churro—and sat there sipping our drinks for a bit.

I guess I had been staring at the bag as if it were an unfriendly cat that might scratch or bite. “Petey, we don’t have to do this,” Megan said suddenly.

I looked at her. She was twisting her fingers in her hands. “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I really think I do need a shower.”

She blinked, then grinned and made dimples. “Let’s get naked,” she challenged.

I discarded my jacket, kicked off my shoes and pulled my jersey off over my head. My football pants seemed tighter than they should be, but I rolled them down over my hips and peeled them off me; my underwear came too. I stood up, and Megan was there, already out of her clothes. We kissed, longer and deeper than we had really been able to do all week. She tasted of bourbon and coke, and I probably did too.

Soon we were in the shower together, soaping each other’s backs, complaining of getting shampoo in our eyes, and rubbing up against each other as much and as often as we could.

I knelt in front of her, asking, “Can I?” I leaned my face against her.

“Here, now?” she squealed. “You might drown!”

I laughed into her pussy, and she squealed again. I rubbed my face on her private places, used my tongue, my fingers. She pulled my hair, dragged her nails up my back, moaned, and squealed several more times. Then she shuddered, bumped her head lightly on the ceramic tiles, and put the side of her hand in her mouth to stop a shriek...

I stood to keep her from falling, and she hung against me, arms around my neck, her soft titties against my chest where I barely had little nubbins. When had that happened? Megan found one of them with her mouth and sucked on it. I shivered and squirmed. This was different than last time. Nipples are awfully damn sensitive.

She relented, putting her face up to mine, and we kissed. “Now you,” she said, sliding down me to put her face against my sex as I had done for her. I sucked air between my teeth, clenched one hand in her hair, and found myself playing with one of my own nipples with the other.

She rubbed and sucked, using her tongue and her fingers as I had used them on her. The intensity of the feelings peaked, and I moaned and whimpered. Now Megan had to stand to hold me up.

I made drowning noises, and Megan got the hiccups. “Bed,” I said, pointing. We barely used towels before throwing our still-damp bodies at the mattress. We did things in the bed we had done before, together or separately, and we did things neither of us had ever thought of doing. Maybe no one had thought of some of them.

The room stayed mostly warm. Megan had turned up the heat when we first came in, but drafts from the windows and maybe from under the door touched us like icy ghosts now and then. But it was all good. We made love until we were exhausted then we slept for a time with the lights on.

When we woke up, the room was nearly stifling. I got up to jigger the thermostat while Megan produced a battery clock from her bag of tricks. “So we know the time, not like last week.” I laughed, nodding. The clock indicated a bit after 2:30, which seemed absurd.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and yes, I did have little nubbies on my chest, much like the ones Jordan had been showing through her shirts three years before. I now had even more reason not to dress or shower in the boys’ locker room--but how would I explain my new excuse to Coach?

“Beep!” said Megan as she poked me in one of my new decorations. “They’re so cute!”

“Oh, Jeez!” I complained, but then we were both laughing. We drained our now-warm cokes after adding a bit more Wild Turkey. We crawled back into bed. The sheets smelled of sweat and sex, but we cared nothing for that. We would take quick showers before we left, we decided.

But first.

Megan pulled the sex toy from the bag and showed it to me in its blister pack. I did not admire it. It was hot pink, about nine inches long and thick enough to make me wince. That thing was…was supposed to go up inside me?

Megan tore the package open like any ten-year-old on Christmas morning. At least it wasn’t a Daisy Air Rifle--you can put your eye out with one of those things. I must have smiled at that thought, but it was probably a sickly smile.

“You want to use it on me first?” Megan offered, producing one more thing from the magic bag, a tube of lube.

“No,” I said simply. “I had one of those once, and I apparently…” I trailed off, unable to finish a punchline. Megan was smiling at me and shaking her head.

“You make jokes when you’re scared, Petey, Pete, Pete,” she said.

“Also, when I’m terrified,” I informed her.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked, grinning. “That you might like it?”

“Ouch,” I said, nodding and pointing at her.

She laughed and proved me wrong about something earlier. The magic bag had one more thing to reveal, a pair of C-cell Duracell batteries on their own blister card.

“It takes batteries?” I asked, knowing that it might have been the stupidest thing I had ever asked anyone. I felt a twinge as muscles I barely knew I had twitched inside me.

“It’s a vibrator, Petey,” said Megan. She twisted it open, slipped the batteries in and closed it, turning it on to see if it worked.

It made a noise like a bumblebee looking for roses.

“Oh! Jeez! I don’t know about this, Megan,” I whined.

This destroyed her. She laughed so hard she almost fell off the bed. She recovered and passed the buzzing device to me. I took it like I would handle a rattlesnake, which it kind of sounded like.

“You know what to do,” she said.

I sighed. I flicked the switch off, then on again. I’d just been told to go fuck myself--and I was probably going to do it.