The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  But back to the erotic novels. I found that the authors describe the woman’s vagina as, 1) their sex and 2) like a blossoming flower, opening up for the man’s seed. Now, in my head, when I think about this, all I can picture is a giant vagina, opening its lady folds for the penis of their choice. This confused me more about the concept of extra skin in the vagina area. I tried googling extra skin and vagina, and let’s just say I won’t be doing that again. Something about a blue waffle popped up, and I’m pretty sure I dry-heaved for a half an hour after that.

  I’ve written some more in my book, but I feel a little at loss and I don’t know if that’s because my life is at a bit of a standstill. It’s hard to write romance when it’s completely lacking in your life. I mean, I like to think I know romance, but when it comes to experiencing it, I get so close but fail at the end. It’s as though I can attract men but not keep them. Am I doomed to be lonely for the rest of my life? Was I going to turn into Gladys, who walks around with a cat clinging to the back of her sweater without her knowledge? I hoped to God not.

  “Rosie, are you coming? Pizza is here,” Delaney called out from the living room.

  “Be right there,” I said as I closed my journal and stuffed it away.

  I felt melancholy today because not only had Alejandro completely wiped me off his dating radar—didn’t blame the man—but Lance hadn’t called me either. I never heard back from Greg, so all dating prospects failed me. It had seemed too good to be true.

  After a long day at work, I crawled into a warm bath and read, trying to block out reality for a small portion of time. That was short-lived when Delaney came banging on the door claiming she needed to go to the bathroom, and she needed her privacy. It was the downfall of sharing an apartment with two other human beings. Bathroom time wasn’t quiet time, it was do your business efficiently and get out time.

  That’s when I went back to my room and read some of the book Henry gave me, and then I wrote in my journal.

  “Pizza’s getting cold,” Delaney called out again, starting to get on my nerves.

  I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and slipped on my slippers.

  “There she is,” Derk said while slow clapping. “She decided to grace us with her presence.”

  Flipping him off, I sat at one of the barstools and grabbed a piece of pizza from the box containing broccoli and black olive pizza; it was my favorite.

  “Where’s Henry?” I asked, expecting to see him.

  “He has a date tonight; pretty sure he won’t be coming home.”

  For some reason, I felt a small pang of jealousy, but I tamped it down just as quickly. I couldn’t have Henry to myself every night. I relied on him a little too much.

  Trying to seem interested, I asked, “Oh, with who? Do I know her?”

  “Not sure. Her name is Rindy.”

  “Rindy?” I asked, already able to picture her in my head. If she was anything like Henry’s typical girl, she would be big-boobed and blonde. He claimed to love brunettes, but almost every girl he went out with was a blonde.

  “Yup, don’t know what she looks like, but he said she was a cheerleader for the New York Knicks. I think she’s a model now; can’t remember.”

  “Sounds like she’s right up Henry’s alley then. The boy doesn’t know how to date a normal girl.”

  “He has great taste.” Derk chewed on his pizza and looked at it as if it was a gift straight from the heavens.

  “He has horrible taste,” Delaney countered. “Do you remember that blonde with the ‘beauty mark’ on her face? I swear to God, that damn thing moved every time I saw her. Pretty sure it was on the tip of her nose at one point.”

  “Sweetie,” Derk said lightly, “that’s called exaggerating. We both know it wasn’t on her nose.”

  “It was. Remember, she came stumbling out of the bathroom the night we went to that small rinky-dink bar in the Meatpacking District? Her hair was all a mess and her beauty mark was on the tip of her nose.”

  “Babe, you were highly intoxicated that night. You thought my dick was sprouting out of my ear.”

  “Why are you taking her side? Do you like her? Have you been talking to her behind my back this whole time?” Delaney yelled.

  Derk threw his hands in the air and said, “I give up. She had her beauty mark on her nose.”

  Smiling with satisfaction, Delaney turned toward me and said, “Works every time. Remember that when you have a solid man in your life: just keep pushing him until he gives in.”

  “Great advice, babe. Teaching her how to show a guy to an early gravestone. Real nice.”

  “Just trying to help a girl out,” Delaney said with a wink. “So what happened with handsome Alejandro? Was it everything I thought it was going to be? That picture speaks for itself. I’m just wondering why it has a size-seven heel print in it.”

  We looked to the mantel in our living room where Henry had hung the punctured canvas for all to see. It was our new artwork, and I giggled just looking at the stupid thing.

  “I wondered what that new artwork was,” Derk said, studying it. “That dude is packing in that picture.”

  “Well, it’s not very accurate,” I mumbled.

  “What?” Delaney shoved my shoulder so I had to look at her. “I’m sorry, but did I just hear you right? You saw his penis last night?”

  “I did,” I said, making Delaney’s jaw drop to the counter. “I don’t want to get into it, but let’s say I saw his penis. It was extremely hairy, so I left his apartment as quickly as possible.”

  “Ah, come on,” Derk said, sounding disgusted. “Guys who don’t man-scape really give us a bad name. A little trim to the balls goes a long way, especially when your lady is keeping things clean.”

  “Thanks, babe.” Delaney kissed Derk on the lips. “He’s right. If he wasn’t shaved and trimmed down below, I would never put his balls in my mouth, and I’m going to be honest with you, Rosie; I like man balls in my mouth.”

  Did she just say she liked man balls in her mouth? I doubted that would ever be a sentence I’d utter because after my experience from last night, I wouldn’t be able to look at a set of balls without gagging.

  “I’m sorry, but did you really say you liked balls in your mouth?”

  “I did,” Delaney confirmed casually. “There is something about having your man by the balls, being able to bite down on their most prized possession with one tick of your jaw, not that I would, but it’s so powerful. Plus I like running my tongue along Derk’s scrotum. He practically purrs when I do it. It’s fun.”

  “You know, babe, there are some things you can keep between us. It’s okay to do that.”

  “Where’s the fun in that? Then I wouldn’t be able to see how red your face gets when I talk about how you purr.” Delaney turned toward me and continued. “He also likes it when I run my finger into the crevice of his thigh, right where his leg meets the juncture of his waist. He says it tickles him but it actually makes him harder . . .”

  “Babe, seriously. Enough,” Derk said, looking an awful shade of red.

  “Don’t be so stuck-up, Derk. We’re sharing.”

  “Are we? Okay.” Derk set his pizza down, brushed his hands off, and looked directly at me. “You know the noise that comes out of Delaney’s mouth when we’re doing it, the hyena-sounding one?” I nodded my head just as Delaney covered his mouth with her hand.

  “Don’t you dare fucking say a thing,” she warned.

  Well, now I was intrigued. Whenever Derk and Delaney were together in her room, it wasn’t uncommon to hear a wild banshee-sounding animal sound. I chalked it up to Delaney having a really good time with Derk, but now it seemed like she had some hidden sex secret.

  Fighting off her arms, Derk pinned her against the counter and looked over her shoulder at me with an evil grin.

  “Your friend has a serious toe fetish and if I do anything to her toes, she starts hissing and screaming like a hyena. If I want the girl to come, I just wiggle her big t
oe while I’m deep inside of her and she’s a goner.”

  He pulled away from Delaney, pleased with himself. Delaney brushed down her rumpled shirt and stuck her chin up as she turned around to face me.

  “I’ve found that I enjoy a good toe wiggle during sex. There is nothing wrong with that. I just know what I like. I’ve made it easy for you,” she said to Derk.

  I tried to hold it in but I couldn’t. A snort escaped me, instantly making me cover my mouth. A sneer greeted me when I looked at Delaney.

  “Just wait. Once you have had sex a couple of times, you will find out what pushes you over the edge. Because as much as men like to think that pounding into you with their stiff rod does the trick, it’s so much more than that. You have to rub a lady in the right way.”

  “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. Right, Delaney?” I asked with a smirk.

  “Yup, laugh all you want. Just wait, Rosie. After the initial massacre of a man taking your vagina to pleasure town, you’ll find out what you like, and you will rely on that. You know this?” Delaney asked while sticking her finger through a hole she made with her other hand. “That is called a man’s best friend but to us ladies, it’s just some simple penetration, nothing to fawn over. What we like is a little rub on our clits.”

  “Wait”—I stopped Delaney for a second—“so when a guy enters you, it’s not pleasurable? Everything I’ve read begs to differ.”

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t feel good, and yes, I’ve climaxed from penetration alone, but if you want that toe-curling orgasm, there has to be some clit action involved. Or if the guy can reach your G- spot, now that, that’s an orgasm. Mmm, just thinking about it has me hot.”

  Derk perked up as he eyed Delaney up and down while placing his hand on her back. “Is that right, babe?”

  “Yeah, maybe we can go to the bedroom?”

  “Hello, I’m right here,” I offered. But as usual, they ignored me, tossed their crusts in the box, and took off toward her bedroom, leaving me once again by myself.

  “Figures,” I said, boxing up the pizza and sticking it in the fridge. I should have expected that to happen. It was rare when Delaney and Derk weren’t hanging out in her bedroom, getting it on.

  Just like old times, when both my roommates were out on dates, I grabbed my laptop and sat on my bed. I logged onto my dating account and saw there was a message. Praying it was from Greg and not some random guy, I opened it up.

  Luckily, it was from Greg and there was a green circle next to his name. I had no clue what that meant but I started to read his message when an instant message box pulled up on my computer.

  Greg: Hey beautiful. I was hoping to catch you on here tonight.

  I shouldn’t be affected by him calling me beautiful—he probably called his sister beautiful—but I couldn’t help but feel giddy about it.

  Rosie: Hi, I didn’t know this thing had instant messenger.

  Greg: Me either until a lonely old man messaged me, looking for companionship. I thought it was nice until he sent me a picture of his wrinkled nipples, asking if the mole on them seemed to be cancerous.

  Rosie: No, he did not.

  Greg: He did. To say that I’ll be hitting the gym more often is an understatement. Seeing old-man boobs will do that to you.

  Rosie: Do you go to the gym now?

  Greg: I want to impress you and say all the time, I practically live there, but I think if we ever meet, you would know that’s a lie. I’m fit, but I’m no means a bodybuilder.

  I could see he was fit from his pictures. There was even a shirtless picture of him and he was cut in all the right places, but like he said, not a bodybuilder.

  Rosie: I don’t know; you seemed so bulky and manly in your pictures.

  Greg: I’m reading that as sarcasm. Would I be right?

  Rosie: Not at all ☺

  Greg: Total sarcasm, but I will live with it. Tell me, Rosie Bloom, what did you have for dinner tonight?

  Rosie: Pizza with my roommates.

  Greg: Pizza? My favorite meal. Where did you get it from? Wait, let me guess. Was it deep dish, regular, or thin crust?

  Rosie: Regular.

  Greg: Light sauce, or heavy? What about the cheese, was it on top of the toppings or under?

  Rosie: Light sauce and the toppings were under the cheese.

  Greg: Bingo! Boriellos.

  Greg’s enthusiasm is hilarious and weirdly, he was right. Clearly, he loved pizza.

  Rosie: I’m impressed. Yes, we ordered Boriellos. Now to really impress me, you have to tell me what I ordered.

  Greg: Hmm, that’s hard because I feel like I don’t know you as well as I should, but if I had to guess, I’m going to say black olives and . . . broccoli

  Rosie: No way in hell you just guessed that. Are you stalking me?

  Greg: LOL! No! But if I told you my buddy delivers for them and when I showed him a picture of you the other day, he said he delivers to your apartment often, and that you are the only one who orders that pizza, would you believe me?

  Rosie: Your friend is our delivery man? Does that mean he told you about all my embarrassing cat shirts I wear when I answer the door?

  Greg: He might have mentioned a cat shirt or two . . .

  Rosie: I get them for free. I work at a cat magazine, so I’m constantly snagging oversized cat shirts. What can I say? They’re comfortable.

  Greg: Hey, I can never pass up a free shirt, so I completely understand. Tell me, do they have rainbows on them, maybe a unicorn?

  Rosie: A girl could only wish. No, they just have real cats on them. Usually the cat of the month. My boss loves getting them put on shirts.

  Greg: Your work sounds amazing, although, it would be better if it was with dogs, because they’re so much cooler.

  Rosie: Tell me, if you had a shirt with your dog’s face on it, would you wear it in public?

  Greg: You’re kidding, right? If I had a picture of Bear on a shirt, I would wear that thing every day. In fact, Bear would have a matching shirt with my ugly mug on it.

  Rosie: Ha ha. I would love to see that and you don’t have an ugly mug. You have a rather attractive mug.

  Greg: Why, Rosie, you flatter me. How did I ever become so lucky?

  Rosie: The Internet gods?

  Greg: I think you’re right about that. So, are we on for Friday?

  After my conversation with him, I was definitely more than ready to go out with him. He seemed fun, intriguing, and I felt like we would have a good time, given the easy flow of our conversation.

  Rosie: Yes, tell me when and where and I will be there.

  Greg: Damn, Rosie, you just made my day. What do you like to do?

  Rosie: Anything really. Just don’t take me to a movie. I want to be able to talk with you.

  Greg: Movies are for making out and I’m not about to stick my tongue down your throat on the first date, unless it’s a requirement for you. Is it a requirement? I would be happy to oblige.

  Rosie: Ha ha, nice try, but no, it’s not. Sorry.

  Greg: A guy’s got to try. How about we go to this place where we get to make our own oven-brick pizzas? We go somewhere to pay people so we can do all the work.

  Rosie: Sounds intriguing. I’m in.

  Greg: Perfect. Listen, I could hang out with you all night on this thing, but I’m currently getting my master’s and have some reading to do before my class tomorrow night. Will you forgive me for jumping out of our conversation too early?

  Rosie: I suppose. Have a good night, Greg. I look forward to Friday.

  Greg: Me too, Rosie. Have a good night.

  We both signed off and I set my computer to the side as I smiled about my date with Greg. I felt rejuvenated about my dating life. Maybe I’d moved too quickly with the others. Maybe talking to them first was what I should have done.

  Feeling thirsty, I walked out to the kitchen where I heard Delaney and Derk going at it from their room. I giggled to myself as I heard a muffled hyena sound come from under
her door—clearly she was trying to cover the fact that Derk was playing with her toes. What a weird thing, but to each their own.

  The front door to our apartment opened quickly and then slammed, startling me. I turned to see Henry angry and on a mission.

  He walked right past me, went into the fridge, and grabbed a beer. With a quick pop of the top, he started downing the liquid while he gripped onto the counter. He was tense, angry, and frankly, not the Henry I was used to. Plus, he was home early from his date. He was never home before midnight when he went on a date. And it was only nine.

  Once he put the bottle down, I stepped closer and asked, “Henry, are you okay?”

  His gaze turned on me and said, “No, does it look like I’m okay?” He wasn't often angry, so I was actually a little worried.

  “No, but you don’t have to yell at me,” I said. I hated being the punching bag for someone else’s problems, and I refused to be one for Henry.

  “Don’t I? Isn’t this all your fault?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked while placing my hands on my hips.

  Henry grabbed another beer and downed it in one long gulp.

  Wiping his mouth, his eyes bore into mine. “Your dating bad luck . . . it’s transferred over to me. Before you started sharing, I was good. I was perfect actually. I was able to easily get pussy without even trying, but then you came along and I can’t even get it up.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” he said in a nasty tone. “I’m getting down with Rindy, one of the hottest pieces of ass I’ve seen in a long time, and what happens to me? Visions of you puking all over a guy’s dick run through my mind, making it impossible for me to fuck her.”

  “Wow.” I felt insulted by that barb. “So because you have a problem controlling your thoughts, you’re going to blame me? You’re an ass, Henry.”