Existential processing in the bathroom (Pearl POV)

Pearl quickly leads Zoey by the hand off the main floor of the store. The Barnes & Noble bathrooms are those one-person rooms, where the door itself locks but inside there’s absolutely no privacy. That doesn’t matter to Pearl in the moment. After shoving the naked store clerk inside (and choosing to ignore the feeling of putting her palm against another girl’s bare back), Pearl locks the door behind them and sags back against the door with a sigh of relief.

God, she always knew dating Chase would be a bad idea, but she had no idea how much trouble it’d really cause.

What she had thought actually mattered before, that Chase was a flighty, irresponsible goofball, now seemed terribly insignificant next to the vital administrative background role he’d always played in Pearl’s life without her ever thinking twice about it.

Chase literally owned and operated Pearl’s consent and her fashion opinions. It never really came up between them before recently, but he did. What was there to think about? He’d always been a good steward with Pearl’s style and consent. He’d let her do pretty much whatever she wanted with both.

Sure, her whole life, Pearl checked in with Chase first before doing anything even remotely sexual. But thinking about it now, it did seem kinda weird that before she met Chase, she’d just… what, call or email some stranger she’d never met before just so she could look at porn? Up till now though, Pearl couldn’t remember ever having been anything other than comfortable with the arrangement.

It was the same with how deaf people didn’t spend all their lives worrying about what they couldn’t hear. It just was. Plenty of people treated Pearl like an outcast, but however abnormal she seemed to others, Pearl never felt anything but normal to herself.

And anyway, asking for her consent from Chase first just felt right. Why wouldn’t it? It was an extra level of security she had that others didn’t. It made Pearl feel safe. Like how you needed two generals or whatever the fuck to turn simultaneous keys to launch the missiles.

Except in this metaphor, Chase was the only one holding the key, and launching the missiles equated to Pearl spreading her legs.

Ahem. Moving on, the point was, choosing when and when not to spread her legs was a huge responsibility. Frankly Pearl was glad she wasn’t the one who had to make the final call. The amount of anxiety that had to come along with something like that, she could barely fathom.

But then everything changed. Chase suddenly started doing things with Pearl’s consent. With her sense of style.

Yesterday night after the graduation party, Chase changed Pearl’s sense of style to dress her up (or down, more accurately). At a word, he jumbled up everything she thought she knew about how to be cool, and how she wanted others to see her.

Then he’d turned his key. Pearl’s key.

Chase used her consent, pushed her down into her own bed, and fucked her into it. No condoms, no excuses. Just raw, sweaty, hot as hell sex.

And god. Pearl hated to admit it even to herself, but it all felt good. It felt right when Chase turned that key. Like somehow, her best friend suddenly stripping and fucking her in her own room was all part of her plan, without Pearl ever even knowing she had a plan in the first place.

Which brings the brooding girl back to her current, insane circumstances.

Had Chase really pulled her aside in the astrology section and fucked her right out in the open against the shelves? Had they really been caught? Had Chase really made her okay with the fact some chick was watching them go at it? Had they really brainwashed Zoey the bookstore clerk to get out of trouble?

Had her best friend of 4 years, maybe boyfriend, and sorta hopefully not soon-to-be baby daddy actually, legit tell Pearl that she consented to him ogling Zoey’s bare ass right in front of her? Right after Pearl’d let him blast her (potentially prepared) womb two seconds prior?

The answer was yes. It all happened.

It was simpler than it had any right to be. Pearl always knew dating Chase would be a bad idea, but she had no idea how much she’d actually enjoy it.

The cutting loose. The thrill. The sex. The lack of buildup or forewarning wasn’t ideal, but feeling Chase inside her, feeling his desire for her. Masturbation didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. How could she go back to the dumb virgin bullet vibrator she had stuffed at the bottom of her sock drawer? Even after having sex just a few minutes ago, wondering when they’d do it again made her stomach feel like it was pulling off cartwheels.

Seriously. The lack of control Chase showed around her was insane. Like what, had Pearl’s aimless class clown of a friend always secretly considered her of all people the sexiest girl in school? It had to be, otherwise Chase wouldn’t be jizzing his pants so bad at the prospect of breeding her like a prized mare . But when the hell had that happened?

How could Pearl be somebody’s wet dream fantasy come to life? She barely brushed her hair and teeth when she got out of bed in the morning, let alone wear any real makeup outside of special occasions. Eyeliner and a touch of lip color didn’t count. Pearl had flaws. Too many of them. Her stomach, arms, and legs were too fleshy, weren’t they? Her boobs were too big and saggy and weird, weren’t they? The last time Pearl ran a mile, she nearly passed out. She would never be an underwear model. Never be on the cover of a magazine.

And yet, though Pearl knew Chase liked fit girls, liked redheads, liked tomboys… ones with skateboards and freckles, specifically… Chase picked her. The fat, pasty weirdo who unironically told people black was her favorite color.

They had sex. It was hot. Chase was a flake, but he was funny, and easy to talk to, and spontaneous. It just felt right wherever he touched her, however he touched her. She touched her stomach in idle thought. Would it feel the same way if he knocked her up for real?

Pearl shook the thought loose from her head. The thought didn’t bother her, but the fact it didn’t bother her gave her more than enough food for thought.

Seriously, wasn’t dating the boy who owned her consent like a cheat code? With anybody but Chase, there’d be a dance. A careful negotiation. Did the guy like her? Did Pearl like him? Where did she want this to go? How soon was too soon? How much was too much? Was she attracted to him or what?

With Chase, all that was skipped. There was no dance. There were no questions. Chase had her consent, and apparently (demonstrably), he thought she was sexy AF. That was the start and end of the conversation.

For all the crazy ways Chase had used Pearl’s consent over the past 24 hours - to fondle her, fuck her, try and knock her up, push her down in a public bookstore while somebody looked on in shock - Pearl found that, against all expectation to the contrary, she still felt totally in control of the situation. Like her and Chase suddenly hooking was all part of her plan from the start, and she was merely discovering her master ruse one step at a time.

All at once, Pearl felt like she was riding a rocket. Except, she mused with an incredulous smirk, she was the rocket. Pearl was a fire and forget missile. She was an ICBM. When Chase turned her key, Pearl launched. What the target was didn’t matter. Chase input the coordinates, pushed the button, and Pearl flew out and annihilated them in an atomic flash.

Right now, Pearl had no idea what she was aimed at, or where she’d eventually land. What would she actually do if Chase got her pregnant? It was beginning to feel less and less like a hypothetical question. Was Pearl now just okay with Chase bending her over whenever he chose, wherever he wanted? Out of all Pearl’s swirling, complicated, confusing feelings about Chase, what did she really want?