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Your friendship with Eddie has lasted for years. You two have always had a strong connection, made stronger by your commitment to truth. As Eddie had so brazenly put it, standing in front of Hawkins High on a humid summer day in 1980: “We’re high schoolers now. All the crazy shit happens here. From now until forever, you have to promise to tell me everything. And I mean everything.”
At the time, you were skeptical. He’s a boy. Obviously, he’s hiding things from you. Why should you tell him everything that you go through? So, maybe a tad too accusatorily, you’d responded: “Sure, but only if you agree to tell me everything, too. I’ve been in your room alone, y’know.”
His face flushed, but he pretended it hadn’t happened. Instead, he spit in his palm and stuck out his hand. You’d been reluctant but had ultimately completed the spit shake. Dutifully, you’d both honoured your bond.
Well… he had dutifully honoured your bond. For example, Eddie had told you, in completely unnecessary detail, about his first time– and how bad it sucked. He’d also told you about his drug dealings, his father, the four times he’d almost gotten robbed in dingy alleyways behind the Hideout, and, of course, the one time the robber succeeded.
You had been a little more lenient, holding out on the more humiliating stories. You’d still told Eddie about a lot of things, though. Like bra shopping with your mother, family drama you’d learned during the holidays, your first time– which had also sucked, and your first period. Granted, the last one was out of necessity. He was the person you’d sent to get pads from the nurse’s office after freaking out in the girl’s bathroom.
Eddie’s also the first to know about many important events in your life. Generally, you tell him news before you let anyone else know, especially about things you’ll share with your family. He’s like a test-run, someone who will give you a preview of your family’s reaction.
Thus, he’s the first person you told about your new job in Indianapolis. You never told him exactly what the job was, but he was pretty broken up about it. After spending years together, you’d have to be separated during the week. You’re still around on weekends, but you’d split that time between him and everyone else you know in Hawkins.
He’d asked if you even needed to work in Indianapolis, but you’d just graduated high school, and money was tight. The job offered a higher salary than anything you could find in Hawkins. Besides, you’d already accepted and signed a contract. There was no turning back.
You’re a model for pornographic photos, to put it bluntly. It’s porn, sure, but it’s softcore porn. The only costars you’ll ever have are other women, and the only consumers will be teenage boys who think a picture of a bra is scandalous.
Was it a bad decision? Probably. But, you’re eighteen, you’re an adult, you can do whatever you want besides legally drinking alcohol. Anyways, you’d negotiated to include anonymity in your contract, meaning you’d never have to show your name or face unless you wanted to.
Your first real shoot was a few days after graduation. You’d pretended that you were going to an orientation and training for your job so nobody would be suspicious. The shoot went much smoother than expected, your nerves only lasting half an hour. One of the other women you’d met said it took her four sessions to get over her camera shyness, so you felt pretty good about the experience as a whole.
Since it was your first time in front of a camera, you’d been able to choose the lingerie and general vibe you wanted to have. You’d never admit this out loud, but you’d selected a set that reminded you of Eddie. It was dark red with black lace and silver metal decorations. The photographer chose a staged room that looked like a haunted house to match your outfit. The photos were a success, turning out nicely. They’d set your first appearance in a magazine for their July edition, two months away.
After your debut, you’d become quite popular. Customers enjoyed your photosets and sent letters to ask for more. The company decided that your next shoot would be angel-themed to contrast with the dark edge of your first photos. Once the set came out, people loved the angel and devil concept, so you’d stuck to those kinds of shoots from then on.
Since your start two years ago, you’ve appeared in thirty-seven magazines. Most of your pages are actually in limited-edition releases, unique to the company you work for. They’re hard to get and released separately from the usual monthly editions. They’re also worth a lot of money, meaning most people can’t get their hands on them.
Which is why you’re so shocked to find an entire box of all the magazines you’ve starred in tucked under Eddie’s bed. First of all, you’d told him multiple times that his bed isn’t the best place to hide things if he wants to keep them a secret. Second of all, even if he’d bought the limited releases when they’d first dropped, his collection would’ve cost him a few hundred dollars, at least.
Maybe he bought them because he liked some other girl in the magazines? But, skimming through the pages, you’re the only one in common between them all. Should you say something? But he can’t know it’s you. If he knew, he would’ve said something. Right?
Not wanting to seem like a creep, you simply slide them back under the bed and pretend you haven’t seen a thing. It’s just in time, too. Eddie comes back and flops onto his bed, right above the magazines. You’ll never look at him the same now that you know they're there.
He immediately notices your odd behaviour, raising his eyebrow, “You okay?”
“Yea,” you lie, wincing at your unsure tone, “just peachy.”
He sits up and leans close to you, squinting, attempting to figure out what’s wrong with you. Nervously, you stand, averting your gaze. He hums but doesn’t say anything more, falling backward to lay on his bed again.
You don’t want to be more suspicious, so you sit on his bed, too. Not liking the uncomfortable silence, you speak before your brain can stop you, “It’s just hot, y’know? This summer is way hotter than I expected.”
His fingers tap together like an evil mastermind. You know from experience that this means he has a plan, one that you probably won’t like. His eyes have a mischievous glint when he looks up at you. “I can hose you down out back. My uncle used to do it when I was a kid and it was too hot.”
“No way in hell are you hosing me down! I’d rather jump into Lover’s Lake naked!”
He rolls his eyes, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already. I know you’ve skinny dipped in Lover’s Lake. It’s a rite of passage for dumb Hawkins teenagers.”
Scoffing, you hiss, “Are you calling me dumb?”
“You’re my best friend,” he says, rolling onto his front and pausing for dramatic effect, “of course I’m calling you dumb.”
In retaliation, you grab one of his pillows and swing at him. You’re not fast enough, his hand stops the pillow, but it’s not like you were expecting it to land. Throughout your entire friendship, you’ve only won one pillow fight.
Wrenching it from your grip, he places the pillow under his elbows. “All this talk about Lover’s Lake gives me an idea.” You make a face, ready to tell him off for teasing you, but he stops you. “It’s not a joke idea, calm down. Why don’t we go swimming there?”
Well, you weren’t lying when you said it’s hot, and Lover’s Lake is better than boiling to death in his room. You nod, “Okay, but I’m not going naked. I have a swimsuit in my bag.” Decision made, he pushes you off the bed and out of his room so he can change. You spend about a minute rifling through your bag to find your swimsuit. It’s nothing like the ones you wore in high school. Those were one-pieces designed to hide your insecurities.
Showing off your body in front of a camera has dramatically increased your confidence. Your new swimsuit is a two-piece. The bottoms are low-cut, exposing a lot of skin. In high school, you would’ve died at the thought of wearing this swimsuit, but now you’re excited about it. The print is cute, and the style is flattering to your body type.
Like always, Eddie slams open the door, scaring the crap out of you. He laughs at your expense, going to the small closet to grab towels for you both. You enter his room to change with a huff, annoyed with his childishness. You only take a minute, tossing your clothes to the corner of his room.
Reaching over to the bed, you attempt to grab your cover-up. But, wait. Where is it? Looking around, you scoff at your stupidity. Eddie’s scare had distracted you, meaning you’d never brought the damn thing with you. Opening the door, you plan to retrieve it from your bag, but Eddie notices you first.
“I recognize you,” he blurts the second you step out of the room. Both of you are caught off guard, neither expecting his words. You’re lost, like a fish out of water, floundering around for a hint of context. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized, staring holes into your bikini bottoms.
Your breath hitches, realizing your mistake too late. You’d completely forgotten about your scar! You’d gotten it as a child, but it’s in such a private place you’d never shown him in person. Obviously, he’s seen it in his magazines. He walks closer, and you walk backward. Eventually, there’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped between the wall and his body. His finger raises to trace against the scar, stopping at the edge of your swimsuit.
You’re doing everything you can to avoid his gaze, but he’s so close it’s hard to evade. He’s looking down at you so intensely that you have to turn your head. He mumbles, leaning closer to your ear, “Going to the big city to be a pornstar? What happened to the good girl you used to be?” You won’t stand for this slander. Sure, you’re timid, but you haven’t always been good.
“I never was one.”
“No?” he questions, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your jaw. Feeling the way you tremble at the contact, he continues down your exposed neck. You completely forget your conversation, engrossed in his actions for a moment.
When his lips leave your skin, you remember how to breathe, gasping, “No.”
Testing the waters, he hooks his finger into the elastic band of your bottoms and snaps them back onto your skin. You gasp and jolt at the slight pain but do nothing to stop him. Chuckling, he runs his free hand up your torso. He uses his thumb to guide your head straight, then rests his palm against your throat.
“Really,” he coos mockingly, making eye contact, “because I think you are one. Good girls let their best friends use them however they please. Are you gonna let me use you?”
Is this… his way of asking for consent? Because that might have been the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to you. Looking up adoringly at him, your eyes must have stars shining in them. Vigorously nodding, you grip onto his shirt and gently tug him closer.
He chuckles at your enthusiasm, yet he doesn’t move. You whine, wanting him to do something, but he shushes you, “I need to hear it out loud, princess.”
“Yes, please! Please, Eddie,” you beg, squirming in his grip. You’re silenced with a kiss, teeth and tongues clashing. Typically, this kind of kiss would’ve been terrible, but you think it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. His hand applies gentle pressure to your throat, making you hum in pleasure.
He pulls back, only to return to your neck. This time he sucks marks onto you, gently scraping his teeth against your sensitive skin. Searching for friction, your hips cant forward, but he puts a stop to it with a quick squeeze of his hand.
“You take what I give you, nothing more,” he chastizes, barely pulling away from your neck. Sheepishly, you mumble apologies. But he’s smiling against your skin, so you know he’s not actually mad.
Moving his hands, he guides your arms above your head, keeping his hands on your wrists for a moment. Observing his work, he mindlessly rubs his thumbs against the insides of your wrists. Only one side of your neck is marked, he thinks, that won’t do. So, he refocuses on your hands and crosses them so he can grab both with one hand.
Your thighs clench because of how large his hands are. Seriously, how have you never noticed? His free hand lightly smacks the outside of your thigh, and you think he’s going to punish you for breaking your rule, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls your leg up, hooking it around his hip. The material of your swimsuits are thin, so it feels like skin-to-skin contact.
The first time he rolls his hips, your eyelids flutter closed. He’s so hard, the outline of his dick visible through his thin swim trunks, and it’s pressing right against your clit. You lose your mind when he starts sucking on the other side of your neck. With the way he’s holding you, you’re unable to move, forced to take at all. Your moans are only increasing in volume. Pretty soon, the entire trailer park will be able to hear you.
Once he’s satisfied both sides of your neck match, he helps you off the wall and lightly pushes you onto his bed. The pose you fall into feels familiar. It was probably in one of the magazines under his bed, considering how he looks at you. Timidly, you close your legs and cross your arms over your chest.
“Why are you so shy, princess? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he points out, moving closer to the edge of the bed.
It’s a little different when you’re laid out in front of him in real life, his eyes watching your every move. A little intimidated, you raise your hands to cover your face, giggling nervously. Eddie smiles softly at you, whispering, “You’re making it hard to be mean, pretty girl.”
“Sorry, Eddie,” you whisper behind your hands, watching him through the cracks in your fingers. He lightly grabs your wrists and brings them to his face, kissing your palms gently before placing them on his cheeks.
Your fingers slide further, tangling in his hair, as he suggests, “Why don’t we take off your top, hmm?” His hands trace the wire of the cups absentmindedly until you nod and lift your chest so he can remove it. The garment is tossed randomly over his shoulder, eyes focused on your boobs.
“You’re prettier in person,” he mumbles, leaning down to trail his lips all over your chest. Slowly, his kisses turn to bites, leaving an array of hickeys as he had with your neck. He sighs, sounding almost disappointed, “I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.”
“I know,” you murmur, running your hands through his hair and tugging when he hits a sensitive spot. His mouth travels lower and lower, finally hovering over your bottoms. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down, watching them peel off your soaked pussy.
He stops for a moment to admire you, licking his lips. Lightly, he traces over the inside of your thigh with a single finger, trailing it closer and closer to where you want him most. You remember the rule from earlier, though, and keep your hips still. As a reward, he slips a single finger in.
You gasp at the sudden intrusion. Eddie’s fingers are much thicker than yours are. Involuntarily, your walls flutter around him as he brings his thumb up to circle your clit while his pointer finger thrusts in and out of you. When you’re ready, he adds a second and a third a few minutes later. You’re so close, on the brink of cumming, when he abruptly stops. You gape at him, kind of upset because of the fading orgasm, though you know he’ll make up for it. Or, at least, he’d better make up for it.
Pulling out his fingers, he spreads them apart to watch the lines of slick web between each knuckle. Wordlessly, he grabs a condom from his bedside table and tears open the package with his teeth. You watch, now entranced, as he slides it on and uses the wetness on his hand to lube the outside of the condom.
Satisfied, he turns his attention back to you. His hands yank you to the edge of the bed, ensuring you’re steady before releasing your hips. He drags the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering even more slick. You’ve never had sex with someone in this position, your legs forced to wrap around him if you want to stay balanced.
He pushes slowly in, and your breath catches. It’s not painful, just a lot. His dick is much bigger than his fingers, so he stretches you open. Pausing only when he’s deep in your guts, he gives you time to adjust, leaning down and pressing soothing kisses to the darkening marks he’d left everywhere on your body.
You’re grateful for the short grace period, but after all the build-up, you need him now. Angling your hips, you attempt to move on your own, but he pushes your hips back down. “I thought I told you to take what I give you? Don’t start being bad now.”
“Sorry, I’m really sorry, please just move. Please, please,” you beg, devolving into whimpers of pleas. Taking pity on you, he complies, gently rocking in and out of you. Again, it’s not enough, but you don’t want him to be mad, so you continue to beg for more instead of moving yourself.
Even under all the lights and cameras you’d never felt so heavily scrutinized. His eyes are keen, watching every movement, gauging every reaction. It almost feels like you’re a photo in one of his magazines, and he’s using your body to jerk off. The mental image sends a thrill up your spine, to be used for pleasure in such a way– but that’s a thought to file away and psychoanalyze another day.
His resolve appears to be crumbling, his hands planting themselves on either side of your body as he ruts into you. His pace is steadily increasing, causing your orgasm to build back, the pleasure burning low in your gut. Your voice has been reduced to moans, higher and higher in pitch the faster he goes.
Gathering all your willpower, you beg him one last time to go faster. “Are you sure,” he grits out in return, “I might not be able to stop.” How is it possible for him to say the hottest things without even realizing it?
“Please! I don’t care, don’t stop, please,” you cry, nails scratching trails down his back. He finally lets loose, not holding back. It’s impossible, but you swear his dick hits deeper every time he pushes in.
Each thrust hits hard, inching you away from the edge. Splaying his hand flat on your torso, Eddie prevents you from being pushed backward on the bed. His other hand grips the junction of your left thigh and hip, ensuring you won’t go too far away from him.
Both your hands fly to his forearm, holding on tightly, hoping to ground yourself in the moment. Your walls are clenching uncontrollably, needing a little push to fall over the edge. You cry only his name, but he understands what you need, reaching his hand to rub messy circles over your clit. You’re both on the brink of release, so it’s much clumsier than when he fingered you, but it feels just as good– if not better.
You’re the first to orgasm, clenching your eyes shut as all senses besides pleasure fade from view. Eddie isn’t very far behind, however. His cum fills the condom, but you swear you can feel the warmth seep through. He pulls out and takes it off, tying the end. Lightly, you crack your eye open to make absolutely sure the condom didn’t break before shutting them in exhaustion.
Eddie crawls onto the bed and drops right on top of you, face-planting in your boobs. Giggling, you try to push him off, but your limbs feel like jelly, so you give up. A comfortable silence falls over you both, content to lay down and chill for a while.
You feel relaxed– until you don’t. Your insecurities come bubbling up, despite what you do to stop them. It shouldn’t matter, it really shouldn’t, but you have to ask, “Are you actually angry that I do what I do?”
“Angry?” he questions, pulling back to study your face. You find it harder and harder to keep his gaze, afraid of what you’ll find. He chuckles, “Sweetheart, as long as you’re not committing felonies, I won’t be angry with you– money’s money. I’m a drug dealer. I don’t have any room to judge.”
A little sheepish, you mumble, “Well, you just seemed so… intense.”
He full-on laughs this time, which you think is a little unfair. It was a genuine question, after all. “Intense?” he repeats, pressing his face between your breasts to muffle his laughter. His ringed hands press against your sides, moulding the skin there. “That wasn’t me being intense,” he corrects, raising his head to rest his chin on your sternum, “that was all jealousy.”
He pouts a little, “I’m sad I didn’t get to see your titties before millions of other men worldwide.”
Laughing, you shake your head at his ridiculousness. Was he seriously upset because he saw your boobs after other people did? “Eddie, you’re silly,” you tease, scratching his scalp. “If you asked sooner, I would’ve shown you my boobs. Even in high school.”
Astonished, he exclaims genuinely, “Wait! If I had asked earlier you would’ve shown me your boobs! Why hadn’t I thought of that!” Both of you crack up again, but you don’t bother speaking again when the laughter dies. The silence talks louder than the words you could’ve said.