The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  He gave me a get real look. “Please, you would rather die than do anything to my precious junk.”

  Very accurate statement, but I didn’t have to let him know that.

  Ignoring his smarmy look, I grabbed a paper towel from one of the wall dispensers, gripped the doorknob to the booth, and peeked in. Instantly, I was hit with a smell I couldn’t not possibly describe if I wanted to.

  Like fuel to a flame, my hand snapped up over my mouth and nose, covering them both. I turned to Henry and said, “It’s rank in here.”

  “Did you expect it to smell like a spring meadow? Of course it smells bad.”

  I grabbed my cardigan and covered my mouth and nose as a filter while breathing in. “How do people even get off in places like this? The smell is way too offensive.”

  “When someone is horny enough, they don’t care where they are.”

  “I’m never that . . . excited.”

  “I beg to differ.” Henry wiggled his eyebrows.

  I swatted his chest and peeked my head in one more time. There was nothing fancy about the booth. On one side, there was a screen that seemed like it was from the 1980s with buttons to choose what flick to watch, and opposite the screen was a built-in bench, the same color as the walls. Because I was a masochist, I looked at the ground and instantly regretted it. It was spotted with white droplets.

  “I think my libido just dropped a couple of notches.” I shivered, still staring inside the booth. I couldn’t turn away.

  “I didn’t think that was possible,” Henry said.

  “Very funny.” I turned to Henry when I saw woman walk up to us. She was the size of The Rock: thick, wide, and terrifying.

  “You’re in my booth,” she said with a deep voice . . . a very deep voice.

  Henry turned around and saw the yeti towering over him from behind. Instinctively, he took a step back and put his arms around me for protection. “I’m sorry; we didn’t know it was occupied.”

  “It is every Wednesday from seven to nine at night. Now move.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  “Excuse us,” Henry said, stepping us to the side.

  The lady grabbed hold of the paper towel dispenser, opened it up, and grabbed a stack of towels. “It’s going to be a long night.” With that, she locked herself in the booth, while Henry and I stared at the now “Occupied” sign on the door.

  “Why did I picture her pussy?” Henry asked with a forlorn look on his face.

  “Why do I feel like her vagina could gobble me up whole?”

  Henry quickly ushered me out of the porn booth room and back into the shop. “Because I’m pretty sure her vagina eats girls like you for an appetizer. No doubt about it, her vagina has teeth. Big fucking scary ass fangs that rival the chompers on a T-Rex.” Henry gripped my hand. “I think I’m going to need you to hold me tonight while I bury my face in your bosom.”

  “How is that different than any other night?” I joked.

  Henry gave me a shocked expression. “Cheeky tonight, huh? You see your first porn booth and now you have some sass in those pants. My, my, my.”

  “You’re stupid.” I laughed, and walked past him toward a wall of battery-operated magic wands.

  Purple, pink, green, black, glitter, matte, thick, skinny, small, short . . . hundreds of different dildos. Dolphins, rabbits, veiny, sleek, vibrating, rotating, life-like, fantasy-like . . . so many dildos.

  I stared at all the pleasure sticks on the wall advertising “The Best Orgasm of Your Life” and my mouth hung open in wonderment.

  “It’s like Disneyworld for vaginas,” I muttered, reaching my hand out to touch one. “They’re so pretty, all sparkly like a unicorn’s horn.”

  “They just look like different colored dicks to me,” Henry answered, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.

  “You’re saying these aren’t pretty?” I asked, flabbergasted by his response. “The colors, the sparkles, they’re so . . . captivating.”

  “Love, if I found these pretty, we might have a problem.”

  “So, you don’t want one in your ass?” I asked, pulling down a strap-on.

  “What?” Henry’s eyebrows shot to the top of his hairline. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  I placed the strap-on around my waist for good show and thrust in his direction. “A book I recently read had a fun little ditty in it of a girl wearing a strap-on and doing her boyfriend from behind while she”—I leaned forward and whispered—“stroked him to climax. Since we’re here, we could get some play things for us. I heard men really like to have their prostate played with.” I leaned even closer and said, “I could play with your perineum while I do it. I’ll use the All American dildo. Who doesn’t want the Star Spangled Banner making you all hot and bothered?”

  Face bright red, Henry leaned into my ear and said, “Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re practically frothing at the mouth from the idea of having a Fourth of July party up my ass. Do you realize that?”

  “Of course.” I laughed. “I was just kidding.” I placed the strap-on back on the shelf and checked out their neon collection. I really was kidding about the whole strap-on thing, but once I started talking about it, I actually thought it might be fun. By the horrified expression on Henry’s face, I knew it would be a no-go. Too bad.

  Curiosity wreaked havoc on my brain; it might be fun to be a guy for the night. See what the big deal was all about. Why was having a penis the equivalent to obtaining some kind of superpower? My vagina didn’t seem all that magical. It was a hole covered by a deli blanket. What was so special about that? At least with a penis, you could flop it around, maybe set it on an unsuspecting leg. Pull your ball skin through your zipper hole and place it on your jeans, and then tell someone there was gum stuck on them, only for them to see your gross scrotum. What a treat.

  “I would like to have a penis for a day,” I blurted out, stroking the packaging to a rather large-sized vibrator that had a scary looking clitoral stimulator at the bottom of it. “There is so much I want to know.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Henry asked, tossing a pancake-sized condom at me. “Make each lady wear one of those on their legs for the night. Last one to tear a hole in their condom wins.”

  I observed the giant dick sleeve and laughed. “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “So, you want a penis?”

  “Yeah, just for a day. I want to see what it’s like to look down and see my junk hanging from between my legs. I want to walk up and down the hallway and watch it sway with my movements. I want to stroke it and make it happy and see what it feels like. I want to do the helicopter, I want to do jumping jacks, pretty much anything that will make it flop around, I want to do that. I want to adjust myself in front of a room of people and not care. I want to closely examine my balls and possibly get kicked in the family jewels, just to see what it feels like. I want—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there,” Henry said. “You don’t want to get kicked in the nut sac. I will tell you right now, it will feel like someone took an empty wine bottle and tried to shove it up an imaginary tunnel that connects your balls to your stomach; you will want to throw up for days.”

  “Ugh, men are so dramatic. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

  Henry crossed his arms over his chest, a challenge in his eyes. “Want me to kick you in the crotch and see how that feels? Bet you’ll be singing a different tune once you get a foot to the cooch.”

  I placed my hands on my hips, throwing his challenge right back at him. “It’s all bone down there; of course it’s going to hurt. It would be like getting kicked in the shin.”

  “Wait, are you trying to say that getting kicked in the shin is worse than getting kicked in the crotch?” Henry shook his head in disbelief. “You’re losing it, love.”

  Defiance was my middle name right now. “Have you ever been kicked in the shin?”

  “Yes, I have, and I can tell you right now it’s nothing like being kicked in the d
ick.”

  “Let’s see,” I said, cocking my foot back.

  Without even blinking, Henry stepped away and covered his crotch with his hands. “Are you insane right now?”

  Putting my foot down, I laughed out loud. A maniacal screech of hysteria ripped through my body and popped out of my mouth. Uncontrollably, I heaved in amusement, gripping the display of edible underwear, and from the look on Henry’s face, he was confused and partially terrified.

  Men were so protective of their penises.

  I laughed to the point that tears fell down my cheeks and the store clerk had to ask Henry if I was losing my mind.

  Anyone else would have laughed at the judgmental store clerk, but from the mention of losing my mind, I thought about how, lately, it felt like I was. Sir Licks-a-Lot was driving me crazy. He liked to hump Henry’s shirts, stare at us while having sex, and even paw my nipples at night without my permission. I hated that he made them hard each time; bestiality was not my thing, but Sir Licks-a-Lot sure thought it was—the pervert.

  Before I knew it, my laughter turned into sobbing uncontrollably. I covered my face and slouched against the edible underwear, as a tidal wave of sorrow blasted through my body.

  Henry knelt before me and removed my hands from my face so I had to look at him through my blurry, water-soaked eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “I love you, Rosie, but what I just witnessed can only be described as something straight from a Stephen King book.” He took a deep breath and continued, “You’re laughing your face off like a lunatic one second, so much that I could have swung like Tarzan from your uvula, and then the next second you’re crying like you had to sit down to catch yourself. You’re scaring me.”

  A few tear-soaked hiccups popped out of me while I tried to catch my breath. I wiped my eyes, trying to dab around them to avoid makeup smearing, but unfortunately, I knew there was no hope. It would look like a jail cell was smeared down my face.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” I answered honestly, still trying to catch my breath. “That guy asked if I was losing my mind, and I think I am.”

  Henry pulled me up off the floor and kissed the top of my head. “I think you’ve had an exciting day, that’s all.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I also haven’t had sex yet tonight, and I think that has me all wound up.”

  A snort flew out of Henry as he shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

  I dusted off the back of my dress and moved along the aisles as I spoke to Henry. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Henry. You think it’s easy being around you, with your cologne floating in and out of my nose and those tight clothes you wear that show off your butt and shoulders from behind? Honestly, I can’t be held accountable for what happens when I’m around you. You have my emotions out of whack.”

  “Don’t blame this on me.” He gave me a stern look, but there was humor behind his eyes. “If that’s your excuse, I am turning it right back around on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Henry pointed up and down at my outfit as he spoke. “That dress. It’s short and frames your curves perfectly. All I want to do is rip it off you.”

  “You do?” There was an overwhelming urge in my body that wanted to Hulk-style rip my dress off, flex my boobs to pop my bra to the ground, lay Henry on the floor, and whack my boobs across his face until he screamed for mercy.

  Not my best thought ever.

  “Of course I do.” His sexy grin stretched across his face and that was all it took.

  Without even thinking, I tossed my glasses into a bowl of fruit-flavored condoms, flung my leg around Henry’s waist, which hiked the skirt of my dress up, and gripped Henry’s head so I could run my hands through his hair. With the precision of a drunk person, I wildly messed his hair and drove my mouth over his, clinging to every piece of his body. He held on to me so I didn’t fall, but he was by no means engaging in the same throw-your-glasses-into-a-bowl-of-condoms passion.

  Disappointed, I distanced myself from him and took in his appearance. His shirt was undone, he was breathing hard from the attack he’d just encountered, and his hair reflected the same kind of hairstyle as Albert Einstein. And yet . . . I was still very much attracted to him.

  Damn you, Virginia.

  Patting his hair down and tucking in his shirt, he said, “Umm, that was interesting. Want to discuss what that was all about?”

  “No,” I said with a lift of my chin, digging my glasses out of the condom bowl.

  “You sure? Because in the past ten minutes, you’ve threatened to probe me with a very life-like plastic penis, you’ve laughed so hard I saw your uvula, sobbed on the dirty floor of an adult toy shop, and then followed up all of that by throwing your glasses into a bowl of condoms only to maul me afterward. Call me crazy, but your behavior just seems a little erratic.” Am I losing my mind, folks? I’m on the edge here. Help.

  “Of course you would think that.” I paused, trying to figure out how to defend myself. “You just lack passion, that’s all.”

  “I lack passion?” Henry asked, pointing to his chest, his perfectly tan and defined chest. I stared at his skin that peeked past the open button of his shirt and envisioned my hand running down the front of his pecs, maybe giving his nipples a little tweak. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Huh?” I asked, drawing my attention away from his chest and giving him an innocent smile.

  “You’re impossible.”

  Without letting me answer, he grabbed me by the shoulder and took me to the party section, but not before grabbing some elephant-sized condoms for the leg game. Still wasn’t sure about all that just yet, so I would keep it on the back-burner for now.

  One of the shop walls was set up for people like us—those looking to spend an obscene amount of money on trinkets that would most likely be thrown out in the morning. Everything was cheap, flimsy, and phallicy; just what Delaney wanted.

  “I’m going to get a basket,” Henry said. “Start collecting items.”

  I pulled out my list and began searching for what Delaney had asked for . . . scratch that, what she’d demanded.

  Penis whistles, check.

  Penis sippy cup, check.

  Penis shot glass necklaces, check.

  Penis sash, check.

  Penis crown—with detachable veil with penises on it . . . unfortunately check.

  “What do you have?” Henry asked, sidling up next to me with two baskets. Smart man.

  I held up my goods and dumped them into the baskets. “There is also a miniature blowup man with an erect penis that I feel Delaney would probably enjoy carrying around.”

  “I agree,” Henry said, looking at the other items on the wall. “Penis candy?”

  “No.” I stopped him before he could put it in the basket. “Delaney said no penis candies, hard or gummy. She’s tested them and thought they were gross.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked around and then started laughing. “Didn’t she want a penis piñata?”

  I turned and saw what Henry was looking at and couldn’t help laugh. In all its glory, on the top shelf was a giant four-foot papier-mâché penis, decorated with frilly paper and a perfectly round mushroom head.

  “That needs to go home with us,” I said, staring at it.

  “Yup, and we have to make sure to keep it away from Sir Licks-a-Lot, because I can only imagine that stupid feline wanting to use it as a scratching post.”

  “He better not.”

  We spent the rest of our time picking out items to stuff the piñata with and stocking up on enough paraphernalia to outfit at least four army brigades, but better safe than sorry. Knowing Delaney, if everyone didn’t have at least two penis whistles, she would throw a fit.

  Henry, the amazing boyfriend he was, paid for all the penises and didn’t even glance my way when I held out my card. It was so stupid, but to have someone who did kind things like pay for my best friend’s penis party, made my heart be
at a little faster. Clearly, I didn’t love Henry for his money, but the gesture was sweet. He made me feel cherished, worshipped, taken care of, and that was a foreign feeling, one I never wanted to lose.

  “Pizza?” Henry asked, walking next to me toward the pizza shop down the block.

  “Yes, please.” I glanced at him. His arms were full of bags. I couldn’t help giggling as we walked down the streets of New York City—where everyone, thankfully, was a little eccentric—giant penis piñata in hand, and a bag of dicks dangling from our fingers.

  “Nice dick,” a man called out from a passing taxi, followed by laughter.

  Henry shook his head. “You owe me for this, Rosie.”

  “Why? That penis suits you.”

  “Does it? I didn’t know a papier-mâché penis was something that could suit someone.”

  “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you, hot stuff,” I replied, giving him a giant smile and loving the way his eyes sparkled whenever he looked at me.

  “You still owe me.” He winked, sending a chill up my spine, a really good chill.

  Chapter Thirty

  Deli Meat

  HENRY

  Eight at night, it was eight at night, and I was still in the office. It was a long-ass day already, given that Rosie decided to spend a good portion of last night straddling me in every direction she could conceive—no pun intended. Then, this morning, she had to suck me off in the shower. I wasn’t complaining, I was just . . . nervous.

  I’d never had this much sex in my entire life, and I was fucking terrified as shit that one time I wouldn’t be able to get it up. Then what? I’d go down in history as one of those men, one who could have a sexy-as-fuck woman in front of them and not spring a chub? Fuck, I never wanted to be that man, especially since Rosie was my girl. She was so fucking perfect that not being able to get it up around her would be devastating.

  Sweat tickled the back of my neck from the mere thought of it, and I wasn’t even around her or even in a sexual headspace. Christ, the woman’s libido was starting to attack me at work now.