Training Days

"Jesus, can you not?" Mel blurts. She's not even looking at you, so far as you can tell, yet somehow she knows exactly where your eyes are: glued to the ass of the three girls jogging on the sidewalk. Two of them are wearing very short, bright red shorts, and the third is wearing loose black shorts a bit longer than the other two.

"What?" You ask, almost in surprise.

"Can you stop staring at the girls please? If you want to eyefuck them on your own time, I'm not going to stop you, Max, but it's creeping me out today."

"Sorry," You reply, genuinely apologetic. You've had to stop yourself from staring at Melanie on several occasions, and there's been multiple times where she wore something a little more 'attention-getting' than normal and you even had to be careful about standing up around her. Especially at the pool... The first time that happened, she slapped you right in the mouth.

"We're just friends, Max!" She'd screamed at you, right in front of everyone. Even mid-slap, you'd marveled at the way her firm, high-school-freshman tits wobbled briefly in her swimsuit as she struck your cheek. That was almost four years ago, and you still catch yourself throwing sideways glances at your best friend and remembering that juggle. It makes you feel dirty and all of the right ways... but also all of the wrong ones.

You feel the sting of The Slap Heard 'Round the Pool in her tone now, and it just serves as a reminder to not be a creepy douche around Melanie. The sting may have faded from your cheek, but it almost destroyed your friendship as well.

"Stop apologizing," She says with a sigh.

"Sor-" You start, cutting yourself off.

"Look, Max, we're going to college soon," She says, turnning to face you in the passenger seat, "While I love that we're both going to State together, I can't be there to follow you around and clean up after you for being... you," She grabs your forearm before you can respond. "You're a great guy, but you're still a guy, and guys are practically designed to be creepy douchebags."

It felt like she just slapped you again. You've always considered yourself to be a step above most of the rest of the guys. Sure, you look at women and make the occasional comment, but you're nowhere near as bad as most. You've never cat called a girl, you've never told stories in the locker room, and you've never been brazenly sexual when talking with women. You keep the dirty jokes to a minimum around them, and you have never shared any of the pictures sent to you, or gotten girls drunk just so you can fool around with them. You're no angel, and certainly not a virgin, but you've always tried to be decent. This from Mel isn't the way she usually talks, and it feels like it's coming out of the blue.

You sit in silence. Your eyes casually shift over to the joggers again.

"Damn it, Max! Don't be such a little bitch!" Mel smacks you in the shoulder. "You're a great friend, like, seriously. You're like the brother I never had, you know that right?"

"Really?" You manage to pull your eyes from the joggers and meet hers.

"Yes, really. The brother I never had and always wanted." She's serious. "Let me help you."

"Okay," You pull yourself together, stricken by the seriousness she's taking with this conversation.

"Okay, so..." She shifts in her seat and sits cross-legged, your eyes catching her shorts riding up as she does. "Lesson one."