by Brent, Amy
Fuck.
Camilla was cheating on me.
I had no proof, but I knew it in my gut. I didn’t want it to be true, but I knew it was. I sighed and got out of the shower, not bothering to dry off. I dropped into bed before I reached for my cell phone, then groaned when I didn’t find it. I pulled myself downstairs, butt naked and dejected. Picking up my phone, I turned on the screen, then snickered when I saw I still didn’t have anything from Camilla.
My girlfriend, the cheater.
While I had no proof, I had my gut, and my gut had never steered me wrong as a lawyer. I had the evidence. I had the argument. I had everything I needed for a judge to rule in my favor. As I flopped into bed clutching my phone, the gavel came down in my mind.
Cheater.
I couldn't believe I had been cheated on again.
Ava
I walked out of the shopping center with bags of clothes in my hands. I had two of the six things on my list checked off. I had a new outfit that made me look sexy, a pair of heels to match, and my first set of lacy lingerie, which was folded and stuffed into the cutest bag I had ever seen. I tossed everything into my trunk before heaving a heavy sigh. I had an appointment at a spa across town in an hour, and judging by the Sunday traffic, it would take me nearly that long to get there.
The premise of the checklist was simple. The grooming and the outfit requirements weren’t for the man, but for me, to make me feel more confident in the next step I was about to take and to make me feel sexy in the bedroom. Because the sexier I felt, the more enjoyable it would be for me.
At least that was the disclaimer at the bottom of the list I had been provided.
I closed my eyes and decompressed a bit from my lingerie shopping. I’d never done that before. Hell, I’d never even been in a store like that before. My heart still thundered against my chest at the thought of it. The first half hour had been spent just finding my size, because apparently lingerie sizes were different than Hanes underwear sizes. Then it was a matter of finding the right type of fabric. Some were so silky, they slipped right off my ass in front of the attendant. Some bras had holes where my nipples poked right through. I mean, what was the point if the bra didn’t cover my damn nipples?
I had exposed more to that kind attendant than I had to any person in my entire life.
Though humiliating at times, eventually I found one that fit me nicely, and it went with the outfit I had shopped for earlier. The lacy boy shorts stayed up just fine on my hips, and the matching bralette covered the little pooch I had just underneath my breasts, giving me a smoother appearance over my stomach. And the bra was supportive—a must for the dress I had purchased. The fabric was thin and the fit was flowy, which meant absolutely no support came from the dress itself.
But, man, did nice lingerie cost me a fortune.
I opened my eyes and grabbed the checklist, running over it one last time: fresh haircut and color (if needed), manicure and pedicure, shaved legs, Brazilian wax, outfit that makes you feel sexy, heels recommended but not required, lingerie that makes you feel confident.
That was the list of all the things a woman apparently needed to feel confident in the bedroom. I checked off the outfit, the heels, and the lingerie, then started my car and headed across town. It was time for my spa afternoon, and I couldn't wait. It had been ages since I’d gotten a decent mani-pedi, and my hair really did need a nice cut. My raven hair had grown way too long. This would also be a good time to change things up a bit, get some highlights or possibly try out a new nail color. I could do anything!
It felt powerful, commanding my own virginity the way I was.
And I was doing it on my watch, in my comfort zone, with my fantasy. And if I wanted, I could still decline. This situation was a dream come true. I pulled into the parking lot of the spa and walked right in, feeling my body instantly relax.
“Welcome to Oasis Day Spa, where every day is a tropical paradise. May I have your name?”
“Ava Leary,” I said proudly.
“Well, Miss Leary, we have you down for an array of appointments. Let’s confirm them before we get you started. We have you down for a mani-pedi.”
“That’s right.”
“A leg and Brazilian wax.”
“Also right.”
“A hair appointment for a cut and possible color.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Then a facial and back massage combination.”
“Oh, that is so right,” I said, grinning. Why couldn't I spoil myself a little bit?
“Well, if you’ll sign these forms and check to make sure your information is correct, we’ll get you started with your waxing.”
“Wait, the waxing is first?” I asked.
“We arranged all your appointments from quickest to longest. You’ll start with your waxing, and then you’ll indulge in your mani-pedi. While your nails are drying, you’ll have your hair appointment, and then your facial-and-massage combo will be at the end.”
“But the waxing is first?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great,” I said breathlessly.
“Wonderful! Just sign here, here, and here. Then double-check your information and we’ll get you started!”
I hadn’t known I was going to be starting with the most stressful item. I’d had my legs waxed before. It was all I did in the summertime because I always nicked myself shaving. But starting off with the Brazilian? I’d never had a Brazilian before. What if it hurt? What if they yanked off my vagina lips? What if it spoiled the entire spa day I had planned because I bled everywhere and had to go to the hospital?
“Miss Leary?”
“Yes?” I asked.
“Your wax technician is ready for you.”
Really, people, could you stop talking about wax already?
I walked into a room I’d seen a dozen times before. All waxing rooms looked the same: a plush table, soft towels, warmed wax filling the room with its scent, and a soft heat to open the pores of the skin. A woman in the corner smiled at me as I was ushered into the room. Then she took my things from my hands and set them in a chair.
“Go ahead and strip down from the waist to your toes. Then knock on the door when you’re ready.”
Nodding, a weary smile crossed my cheeks, and then I was left alone. Everywhere I looked, there were strips of fabric and mounds of melted wax. I started freaking out, but I slipped my pants and my underwear off before I spread my legs and looked down.
Holy shit. It was a jungle down there.
My eyes bulged. She was going to rip that shit out with wax. Nope. This was not good. None of this was good. I couldn't shave? I could shave this away. I could do it an hour before the date. I’d be smooth if I shaved an hour before—
“Miss Leary?”
“Yes?” I asked a little too loudly.
“Are you ready for me?”
“Sorry. Um—yes,” I said.
I hopped up on the table and tossed a towel over myself as the door flew open. The technician smiled at me as I got settled on the table. Then she whipped the towel off like it was nothing. I closed my legs. I’d never been exposed to a technician the way I was now.
“First time?” she asked.
I was fucking tired of that phrase.
“We’ll start with your legs, huh?” she asked.
The legs weren’t too bad. I kept those up during the summer. I drew in deep breaths and let them out when she ripped the cloth off my skin. She bent my leg up to get the backs of my thighs. I closed my eyes and settled into the routine. It would be no different with my more sensitive areas. The same sensations, the same rhythm, the same mechanical comfort of having hair removed from my body.
“All right, we’re going to start on your Brazilian now. I’ll start with the outer side of your right vaginal lip and work my way over.”
I nodded, scared that if I spoke, I’d end up bailing on the whole thing.
The second the hot wax hit my skin, I ju
mped. Uh oh. This wasn’t good. She smoothed the cloth over my skin, and I closed my eyes. I tensed. This wasn't routine. This wasn’t rhythmic. This was new—big, bold, brazen.
“One, two—”
She ripped the cloth away and tears welled in my eyes as I forced myself to gulp down air. My hands curled around the edge of the table. I felt her put more hot wax on more of my pubic hair as tears rushed down the sides of my face.
“On second thought, maybe this isn’t—holy shit! Wait, wait, wait. Can we pray? To someone? Just before—mother-mmmm!”
My toes curled in so many bad ways and my fingers hurt from clutching the edge of the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as she ripped the last cloth away from my pussy, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. I was smooth. I was burning, and my vagina lips were probably hanging off on the strips, but I was alive.
“Is it time for my other services yet?” I asked.
“Almost,” the technician said.
Almost? What did she mean by almost?
She lifted my leg before hot wax fell into cracks and crevices no person should ever touch. My eyes widened as I looked up, locking eyes with the woman between my legs. No. This wasn't happening. That was my asshole. It had to have hair. This wasn’t—I wasn’t—
“Oh, sweet mother of—” I cried out into the room as the cloth was ripped away.
Three times. It took three times for that woman to wax my fucking asshole. I didn’t even try to hide my tears. I didn’t even try to tame my cussing. I lay there with my legs spread wide, my entire body a pile of goop on top of her table as she threw all the cloths in the trash can.
“When you’re ready, I have a cup of water for you to drink. Then I’ll escort you to your mani-pedi.”
A cup of water? To drink? Could I throw it on my burning genitalia? Could it be used to put out the fire she had started down there with all that fucking friction? I couldn’t even process the idea of a mani-pedi. I had to sit on my ass for that. Could I even do that? Would my butt cheeks tolerate it?
“Am I alive?” I asked.
The technician giggled as she laid a warm towel over me.
“Yes, you’re alive. You survived your first Brazilian. And, believe it or not, you did better than most.”
I looked at her and watched her giggle at me. She shook her head before she left the room, leaving me to pick myself up. I couldn't feel my pussy. My ass cheeks were screaming at me. I managed to sit up as the room spun around me, and the only thing I could think about was how unlucky my future husband was.
I’d be a damn hairy beast for the rest of my life.
Logan
I had no idea how to feel. As I walked into the hotel lobby and made my way to the front desk, my mind swirled. Weeks. It had been weeks since I had been this nervous for anything. I approached the smiling woman and drew in a deep breath, then tried to calm my mind as she greeted me.
“Welcome to La Graviata. May I have your name?” the woman asked.
“Logan Foster. I am expected,” I said.
“Of course. Here is your room key, and if you need anything else, please let us know. We’re only a phone call away.”
“Thank you very much.”
I turned the key around in my hand as I made my way up to the room. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, thankful to finally have my answer. I could move on. We could move on. The doors opened on the fifth floor, and with every step I took toward the room, my heart slammed against my chest. A new start. A fresh start. That was what I needed.
It was what we both needed after the conversation Camilla and I had shared.
I slid the key into the door, which popped open freely. I tossed the key onto the table next to the door and took everything in: the dim lighting, the rose petals, the bucket of champagne sitting on a table next to the window. The smell of lavender filled the room as my eyes fell on her. She sat with her back to me, and my heart raced. This was it, the moment of truth. It was the point of no return for the next step in my life.
She turned around.
“Ava?”
“Logan? What are you doing here?”
“Are you—here for a date?”
“Yes, I am.”
She stood from the edge of the bed, and my eyes poured over her. Shock rolled over me as I took in the beautiful dress she wore. It was pale pink and fell over her shoulders before clutching her perfect little waist. Her legs poked out from the soft fabric, smooth and glistening in the candlelight coming from all around the room. Her pale pink heels flexed her calves, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from roaming.
Ava looked beautiful in a settling like this.
“This can’t be right,” she said.
My eyes whipped up to hers and took in her confusion. Her olive skin shimmered in the candlelight as she moved over to me, her long black hair fluttering around her shoulders.
“Did you get highlights?” I asked.
A flush tinted her cheeks as her hand went up and ran through her tendrils. They glimmered, enticing my fingertips to reach out and touch them.
“Some dark brown ones, yes. Do they look bad?” she asked.
“No, they don’t,” I said.
“Does Camilla know you’re here?” she asked.
“She does not. But then again, I don’t think she would care. The two of us aren’t together anymore.”
“Wait, what?”
“I take it you haven't talked with her in a few days?”
“No. She hasn’t picked up her phone. But sometimes she drops off the map,” she said.
“Well, we broke up two days ago. I signed up for this thing last minute. You know, to be a teacher.”
A look of hurt rose up in Ava’s eyes. I knew it wasn’t because of me, rather because of Camilla, but it still tugged at me. I wanted to reach out to her, especially since both of us being here meant we were at least slightly interested. But just like I had the option of backing out, so did she.
I didn’t want to make her feel skittish or committed to doing something she didn’t want to do.
“Can I just—ask something really quickly?” I asked.
“Sure,” Ava said.
“You’re a virgin?”
She took a step back from me before turning away altogether.
“Ava, I don’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that when I signed up with the agency yesterday—”
“Why did you sign up?” she asked.
She turned around and looked at me, her eyes searching for answers instead of comfort.
“If you just broke up with Camilla, why did you sign up to have sex with someone through some agency?” she asked.
“I needed a fresh start, something that signaled the end of one point and the beginning of another.”
“So you decided taking someone’s virginity was the route.”
“Actually, no. I signed up to be a teacher, but there was a broad range of specifications.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Kinks. Fetishes. Everything from working with a couple on how to tie knots with rope in a bedroom scenario to helping someone explore their sexual boundaries.”
She nodded and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“The call I got back from them was almost immediate. They said they had someone who matched almost perfectly with me, but it wasn’t a teaching scenario so much as it was a first-time scenario. Since I hadn’t specified anything related to virginity on my application, they weren’t sure if I’d be up for it.”
“But clearly you are since you’re here.”
“Clearly I am. But you always have the option of saying no, even now,” I said.
“Do you want me to?”
I gazed into her big, round eyes as they implored me for an answer. Her curves. Her innocence. It all called to me, but it was completely new. I’d never once thought about Ava in that way. I’d only seen her as a potential friend, maybe someone I could trust down the line. Never had I thought about sleeping wit
h her or having any sort of relations with her.
Until now.
“I’m here, and I haven’t said no. But just because I haven’t said no doesn’t mean you can’t, Ava. You need to understand that,” I said.
“I know. I do,” she said.
“I’m sorry Camilla didn’t tell you about us.”
“She apparently hasn’t told me a lot of things.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think I should be asking you the same question,” she said.
I nodded as I walked around the room, taking in the expanse of it all.
“It’s very romantic,” I said.
“What is?”
“The room.”
“Yeah. I suppose I may have gone into a little too much detail during my interview.”
“It’s nice.”
“You think?” she asked.
“I do. I think a lot of people undervalue the impact of romance and what it can do for a particular situation.”
“Do you like romance?”
I turned to her, a mere five feet between our bodies.
“I do.”
“Camilla has no idea what she’s lost in you,” Ava said.
“Well, maybe it’ll be for the better in time,” I said.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“What happened between you and Camilla?”
“I’m not really sure if that’s a line I should cross with you. She might want to tell you in her own time in, her own way.”
“Really? We’re standing in a room because we agreed to sleep with one another, and we’re discussing not crossing lines?” she asked.
“Okay. I’d rather not talk about it then.”
“Fair enough.”
Ava brought up a good point, though. She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. I couldn’t cross that line. And wasn’t there some sort of girl code that prevented her from sleeping with her friend’s ex?
