The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  “A girl?” I crossed my hands over my chest and tried to fake pout. Didn’t know how well it worked until he leaned over and kissed me. Maybe I should pout more often.

  “Not a girl. It was a guy, and he was obsessed with Michael Jackson. So I thought, why not blast some MJ on my phone to make the shoot go by more smoothly?”

  “They had a guy help out at a makeup shoot?”

  “Believe me, we both wanted to jump off cliffs. It was awful. So toward the end of the shoot, we started busting out our best MJ moves.”

  “Do you have moves?” I eyed him up and down while his hand started to caress my thigh. I didn’t even have to ask. He had moves all right, because Virginia was trying to suck in his hand and dance with it. Why did I bother with all the other guys? I should have just stuck with Lance; clearly he was the better choice out of all of them, especially Greg and his love of dog balls.

  “I have moves, baby. Just wait, I’ll show them to you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Cheesy, but I’d take it.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well, the intern, God, I can’t remember his name, how awful is that? Oh well, the intern goes and lifts his knee and does this shaking thing with his leg like MJ does and he grabs his crotch.”

  “Classic.” He nodded.

  “So, of course, what did I have to do?”

  “You busted out the moonwalk, didn’t you?”

  “Did I even have a choice?”

  “After the crotch grab? I’m afraid not.” A grin spread across my face.

  “That’s what I was thinking. So to add some pizazz, I turned in a full circle, grabbed my crotch—I feel like it was a given—and then started moonwalking right into the display of makeup, where I knocked over everything and landed on my wrist.”

  “Oh, ouch. How was the makeup?”

  Tickling me, he replied, “Is that what you really care about?”

  Laughing, I replied, “If it was expensive, yes.”

  “It was.” He chuckled as he calmed his tickling fingers. “I have some on my shirt if you want to try to peel it off.”

  “I’m good. So that’s how you did it? Trying to upstage a twenty-year-old with your MJ moves?”

  “I mean, did I really have an option?”

  “I don’t think you did. At least you got a cool cast out of it.”

  He lifted it up for both of us to examine. “I really did. You can’t believe all the girls that have come up to me, asking about my cast.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, backing away from him.

  “No.” He smiled and pushed me down on the couch so he hovered over me utilizing his good arm. “There is only one girl I really care about.”

  “Well, aren’t you the charmer?”

  “I like to think so,” he said closely just before his lips found mine.

  I allowed the affection because frankly, I wanted him. He was sweet, fun, and he liked me.

  His body pressed against mine as he lowered himself down. My hands ran up his shoulders and into his hair where I played with the slight curls that framed his face.

  For a second, he pulled away, took off his glasses, and then found my lips once more. He was more demanding this time, and my stomach bottomed out as his tongue slipped into my mouth and started stroking the inside of it.

  Holy mother of marmalade jars, he knew how to kiss. Every inch of my skin was on fire.

  His good hand went to the hem of my shirt where he lifted it a little. His thumb found my exposed skin and started to stroke it ever so lightly, igniting something inside me—something primal.

  A moan escaped my mouth as his hand slid up a little farther. Wanting to match his strokes, I moved my hand to his jeans and gasped as it connected with his erection. The thought that I could provoke such a reaction in an attractive man was still a new concept to me.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled away and started kissing my jaw. “I just can’t help myself when I’m around you, Rosie. I’ve been waiting so long to get my hands on you.”

  I lifted my chin to give him better access just as his doorbell rang.

  Blowing out a heavy breath, he rested his forehead on mine and looked me in the eyes.

  “Such bad timing,” he said with a heavy breath.

  “Do you want me to get it?” I straightened as I looked down at his crotch. I had never seen an erection in the confines of jeans before and it was actually a huge turn-on.

  “Might be best,” he responded while sitting up and adjusting himself. “Cash is on the counter if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I said, standing and adjusting my shirt.

  I was about to walk toward the door when Lance pulled on my hand and said, “Come right back here, though, food can wait.”

  Yup, food could definitely wait.

  I opened the door to find a very short boy with a bagful of food with a deli’s stamp on it.

  “That will be twenty-four eighty,” he said in a high-pitched voice. I wanted to ask how old he was since he was clearly going through puberty and could hardly see over the bag he was holding, but there were more important things for me to tend to rather than bring down a deli for violating child labor laws.

  “Keep the change,” I said as I offered him the thirty dollars left on the counter.

  “Wow, thanks,” he said, excited over a little more than a five-dollar tip. Made me wonder what he normally got tipped.

  Grabbing the food and shutting the door behind me, I walked back into Lance’s apartment to see him stretched out on the couch, waiting for me with a sexy grin.

  I was instantly hit with nerves as I saw him take in my body. Would he take the kissing and fondling all the way? Was I ready for it to go that far? Up until now, I’d done some exploring, or at least tried to, but right now, it almost seemed serious, like this was the moment, the day I was going to lose my virginity. Did I want to lose it to Lance?

  As I set the food on the counter, I looked him up and down and realized, he was a good guy. He wouldn’t hurt me, and it seemed like he cared about me. He probably would be very gentle and kind if I told him.

  Instead of coming out and saying, “Hey Lance, before we get down and dirty, thought I would let you know, no one has ever been inside Virginia, so if we could take it slow, that would be great,” I would play it by ear, and if the moment sparked, if it seemed like we were going all the way, to the promised land where unicorns jumped over glitter rainbows, I would give him a heads-up.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” he asked. His arms lined the back of the couch while his right leg crossed over his left knee. He looked so calm and collected, while I was fighting an inner battle, trying to decide if I should let the cat out of the bag.

  Ugh, damn cats . . .

  “Just looking at you,” I said casually, trying to calm my voice.

  Now that I had time to think about it, I was cracking, and I could feel myself starting to drift away.

  Wanting to be a big girl, I strapped on my lady balls and decided to rip off the Band-Aid. Go for it. The first time was going to be awful, I got that, so might as well just get it over with. Give Virginia some experience in the field of Cockland, and let her see what the wonder is all about when it comes to getting stuffed.

  “Come here,” he said, beckoning me with his finger.

  Casually, I walked over to him, trying not to stumble over my own damn feet. I could see it now: I’d trip over my own foot, fall forward with my arms out, punch him in the face and land on his coffee table, which would break under my fall. It could very easily happen given my luck.

  “You’re playing hard to get, aren’t you?” he asked as I eased closer.

  More like trying not to trip like a doofus and ruin the moment.

  Successfully I made it to the couch where Lance instantly was on me, grabbing my hand and making me straddle his lap. Virginia had a visitor knocking on her door, and hell if the little hussy wasn’t excited to feel him.

/>   “Mm . . . you fit perfectly on me, Rosie. I hate myself for taking so long in asking you out and then taking so long to call you.”

  How was I supposed to answer that? Yea, dumbass, good job? Nah, that seemed a little harsh, so I pulled out my little giggle I kept stored for occasions where I had no clue what to say.

  “You’re adorable.”

  The giggle worked, so I made a mental note to keep it in my sexual toolbox. Right about now, the only thing in that toolbox was a giggle and the ability to properly put on a condom. Yup, I was a real mechanic when it came to the old horizontal tango.

  Without warning, Lance wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me in closer where his lips met mine. If I had to pay myself a compliment, I knew how to kiss. I felt good kissing; it was something I didn’t find too difficult. Keep your mouth clean, keep your eyes shut, and don’t bump noses—pretty basic stuff.

  As our lips danced together, I let my hands wander. Why not? If I had a fine specimen in front of me, I might as well let my hands do some exploring, especially when his hands were on my hips and starting to ride up my shirt.

  Placing my hands on his chest, I felt the definition of his pecs and tried to calculate how many times he went to the gym in a week. It must have been at least three because he had some nice muscles.

  My fingers skimmed over his nipples by accident, but by the moan in his voice and the way his nipples peaked, he liked it, so I let my fingers go back over the erect nubs.

  Erect nubs? Was that a term I wanted to use in my book? Seemed a little odd. Would you call a nipple a nub? It could classify as a nub . . .

  Focus, I chastised myself as I told my hands to continue to explore further until they hit the waistband of his jeans. The minute my hands stilled, Lance thrust his hips up, letting me know he wanted me to go further.

  I guess it was time to get serious, so I shimmied off his body and fell between his legs. I looked at him briefly to see unreserved lust, as he waited for me to take action.

  Jesus, I needed a drink.

  With all confidence I could muster, I looked at his tented jeans—literally tented—and undid them. Slowly, I unzipped and was met with a pair of black boxer briefs. Lance’s chest heaved from how slow I was going, and he probably thought I was trying to torment him, but in reality, I was trying to one, not get his penis caught in the zipper—talk about mood changer—and two, I was really freaking nervous.

  With a deep breath, I grabbed his boxer briefs as the same time he lifted off the couch so I could pull them down with his jeans.

  Once his clothing was pulled down and resting at his ankles, I shut my eyes for a second and then opened them to see his dick standing at attention.

  Holy shit!

  There was something wrong with his penis.

  Panic washed over me as I backed away and said, “I’m going to pee my pants. Where’s your bathroom?”

  “Seriously?” he asked, almost pained.

  “Yes.” I stood up and started dancing while grabbing my crotch.

  “Umm, okay. Second door on the right down the hall, but hurry up.”

  “I will,” I replied, just as I saw him look at me and start to stroke himself.

  Ick!

  I ran down the hallway, grabbed my phone from my purse, which was thankfully near the door, and locked myself in the bathroom.

  Fumbling around, I finally caught my breath and called Delaney.

  The phone rang three times before she answered.

  “Aren’t you on a date?”

  “Delaney, he has a crooked penis,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “My date, his penis is crooked, and I mean really crooked. Like someone grabbed it out of fury and bent it to the right.”

  “Rosie, didn’t we go over this? All dicks are different shapes and sizes—”

  “Delaney, this isn’t like a dick that veers to the side. I’m talking like straight-up, the man has a crooked dick. Like if I let him impale me, the head of his cock would be tickling and winking at my ovary.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes! I’m not even sure how he gets that inside a woman.”

  “Maybe he has a fancy swivel trick. You never know, it might feel really good.”

  “If I wanted to give him head, I would have to sit to his side to access his penis.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Delaney softly laughed.

  “Delaney, I’m not kidding. It looks broken. What the hell do I do?”

  “Take a picture?”

  “That’s not helpful.”

  “It’s for science. I want to see it.”

  “Why did I even call you?” I asked, feeling exasperated.

  “Because you and Henry are fighting.”

  “We are not,” I lied.

  “Whatever. Just go back in there and play around with it, but remember to steer clear of cum shooting to the right. You don’t want to shoot your eye out.”

  “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.” She laughed.

  We hung up, and surprisingly, I didn’t feel any better. Remembering I had to “pee,” I flushed the toilet and ran the water to make it seem like I was hitting all the marks of a bathroom visitor.

  Dropping my phone off in my purse, I went back into the living room where Lance was still stroking himself but was harder than ever. I glanced down and couldn’t help notice that it looked like he was choking his poor dick and its head was trying to spring free from his grasp.

  What happened to his penis?

  “Come back here.”

  It looked like a broken finger, a right-hand turn sign, an Allen wrench, a drunk pencil, a worm with a broken neck, a damn garden hoe.

  It was not a penis. I didn’t have much experience with penises but this wasn’t right; it wasn’t real. It had to be a prosthetic . . . that had melted in the sun.

  Call me a bitch, call me stuck up, but I couldn’t go through with this with him. I wanted to, damn did I want to finally rip off the Band-Aid, but I had zero experience touching a penis, so handling one that was proving the term “How you hanging” a little too seriously, was something I couldn’t tackle.

  “I’m a virgin,” I blurted out, knowing that was a giant red flag when it came to guys. “I’m a stage-five clinger. If you poke me with that penis, I will want to marry you tomorrow. I actually already love you. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom, I was preparing my engagement speech to you, because I want to propose, and if we have sex, I will guarantee you I will get pregnant, condom or not. My vagina eats condoms actually, and my eggs are more than willing to pull your sperm into their sacs as hostages. We can make a baby today; just say the word. Marriage, babies, and I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  Yup, pulled out all the stops.

  Despite his broken wrist, Lance’s pants were pulled up and fastened as quickly as I could say deformed dick, and he was backing away from me.

  “Rosie, I like you, but we just met.”

  “Yes, but don’t you want a baby? I have triplets in the family.”

  Not really, but anything to get out of this apartment.

  “This just got weird,” he admitted.

  No, buddy, shit got weird the minute your dick couldn’t look me square in the eyes without me leaning over your lap to wink at him.

  “Yeah, too bad it won’t work out.” I shrugged while walking back down the hallway.

  Without glancing back at Lance, I grabbed my purse and bolted.

  It wasn’t until I was walking into the subway that I realized all the things I said.

  Jesus.

  I shook my head as I swiped my Metro Card and walked through the turnstile. Stage-five clinger? Really?

  At least it got me far away the from candy-cane cock.

  June 13, 2018

  Note to self: when people say dicks come in all shapes and sizes, they are not kidding.

  Dicks can be a grower, not a shower; they can be fat, skinny, long, short, brown, pink, whi
te, black…purple. They have a mind of their own, and they are veiny with an eye on them that will stare you down, begging you to just lick them, taste them, satisfy them. They rest around in the dark, waiting to see the light, to be freed, only to be stuck, shoved, and caressed in the dark once again.

  Dicks are masochists.

  They like to be plucked, tugged, slapped, and swallowed.

  They are nudists, they only like to be naked, they prefer to be sheathed by a canal of flesh and that’s all.

  Dicks are sensitive and, if jostled too much, can spew in seconds. They prefer to do so on a woman, in a woman, anywhere near a woman, but even a sock will work.

  The dick is a different species; it’s one of its own and with a slight lift of its shaft, it’s ready to party.

  Virginia has been scarred. Any vagina would be startled after seeing such a bent cock coming after them. She’s not dumb; she knows how big she is and what can fit, and Mr. Dented Dick wasn’t going to fit properly.

  I don’t know when she will ever be ready to make friends with another penis after being threatened by such a creature. She had such high hopes too.

  Poor Virginia.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Blooms

  I straightened my dress as I took in my outfit for the day. Yesterday was a mess. I just prayed I never saw Lance again and that he kept his mouth shut about what I said. To say I brought crazy-cat lady to a whole new level was an understatement.

  Works for cat magazine, works with cats, writes about cats, is a virgin, confessed to being a stage-five clinger, and professed love on the second date. Yup, confirmed my single status for the next forty years.

  Blowing out a heavy breath, I pulled my hair out of my curlers and ran my fingers through the strands. Pleased with my hair and white sundress, I put on a pair of my brown sandals, grabbed my purse, and headed out my door. It was time to have brunch with my parents. And even though I’d soon be with two people who loved me, I felt alone. And I wasn’t ready to explain Henry’s absence . . . at least without tears.