by Erin Noelle
“I’m not sure . . . I may spontaneously combust or my panties may just disintegrate right off my body,” I laughed. “But don’t act like I’m the only one that fantasizes about our book boyfriends. I clearly remember just last week a certain someone texting me in the wee hours of the morning because she had just had a wet dream about . . . who was it that time . . . I can’t remember someone that you called ‘Daddy’ in bed or some shit.”
“Shut the fuck up.” She joked. “We really are little book whores, aren’t we? Not just in the number of books that we read, but in how many of the guys we are in love with, the things that we dream about doing with them . . .”
“Yeah, how sad is that? If it wasn’t for that vibrator you bought me last year, I would probably have carpal tunnel by this point,” I admitted. I must be the most sexually frustrated virgin on the planet. My virtue was still intact only because my parents didn’t let me out of their sight long enough to even meet anyone, much less like someone enough to want to have sex with them. I wasn’t interested in just handing it out on a silver platter in a bathroom stall at one of my music or dance recitals or better yet, at church camp. I was pretty sure the man upstairs wouldn’t approve of the fact that I was using him as an excuse to escape my parents and whore myself out. I felt bad enough that it was the only place I had ever kissed a guy. I had felt so guilty then that I had almost expected to be struck by lightning or something, but I made it through the rest of the week unscathed.
“You’re telling me! It’s been over three months since I stopped seeing Garrett. All the extra free time has allowed me to read myself into sexual frenzy as well,” she complained. “We really need to get out and have some fun. I can’t wait to corrupt you . . . and it all begins tomorrow.” She jumped off the counter and put her glass in the sink.
“I don’t think I’m going to need your help in corrupting, I’ve been looking forward to this way too long. I may need help in controlling my hormones once they’re released from their cage.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Now back to these different categories of book boyfriends. We need to make sure we consider all potential candidates. We forgot to mention the hot professors looking for reasons to tutor us in private, or the famous musicians that are going to mysteriously pop into our lives and beg us to go on tour with them because we are their muse. Ooh, better yet, maybe we can snag us an ultimate,” I said, trying my best to sound serious.
“An ultimate?” Evie asked, laughing at my categorization.
“Yeah, the ultimates . . . you know, the devastatingly handsome, possessive billionaire moguls that can’t live without us and are dying to shower us with wealth and satisfy our deep, dark sexual desires,” I explained.
“Okay, I lied. Even though I said there’s no guy out of your league, I’m not sure we are quite ready for ‘the ultimates.’ Cheese and rice, Scarlett, you go from telling me you are scared to talk to a college boy to telling me you want to find an older man that’s into bondage and whips I’m not sure if there’s a local Billionaire BDSM club that we can just waltz in and make our selection,” she joked.
I started laughing uncontrollably at her last comment as I envisioned the two of us walking up to an office building trying to find our version of an ultimate. She was right, I needed to take baby steps before I found myself blindfolded and restrained to a cross on a wall trying to remember my safe word, anticipating the crack of a whip across my skin.
“But Ana was a virgin . . .” I tried to argue, but couldn’t even get the thought out without cracking up all over again. We both laughed until tears streamed down our faces. Finally after several minutes, we regained our composure.
“This is what we are going to do. Tomorrow we are going to recreate your image with a new hairstyle, a little bit of makeup, and new clothes—going to get you all sexified. Then tomorrow night we are going to go with my cousin to that party by her school. But before we go, we are going to pick one of the categories of our book boyfriends and our goal for the evening is to find our version of that BB. Each subsequent night we go out together, we will choose a different category until we find exactly what your type is. Shit, it might even help me because I’m quickly finding out what I thought my type was, is actually quite similar to the description of a douchebag,” she explained.
“Okay, I like the sound of this. But once we find our version of the BB, then what do we do?”
“What do you mean ‘then what do we do?’ You talk to him, kiss him, screw him . . . whatever you want to do with him. We can even make it a little game. Whoever gets farther with their BB that night is the winner, and the loser buys breakfast the next morning. We can whore our way through our book boyfriends until we determine what each of our ‘types’ is.”
“That’s no fair! You are obviously going to win all the time; I’m at such a disadvantage! I don’t just want to give away my virginity to the first guy that comes along to win some game,” I argued.
“Oh Sam,” Evie replied, “I’m not going to just sleep with guys that I don’t want to sleep with just so I don’t have to buy breakfast the next morning or to beat you at some game. The true point of the game is to find a guy that’s a keeper, one you seriously want to date, the side game will just make it more fun until we do!”
I thought about what she said and knew she was right. Evie had devised a perfect way for me to meet different kinds of guys and the game would help me to break out of my shell, lose some of my insecurities, and do things that I would most likely be too timid to try. I’m not sure if it was the empty bottle of wine that sat in the kitchen trash, the possibility of finding the happily ever after I had read about time and again in my countless books, or the fact I definitely did not want to die a virgin, but I found myself saying, “Game on. May the best book whore win.”
The following morning came way too soon, and before I had even opened my eyes, I felt the throbbing in my head. Before the previous night, my alcohol consumption had been limited to a glass of wine on two separate occasions; both times I had stayed the night at Evie’s house. My parents would have never allowed me to drink, not for any reason. When I finally managed to roll out of bed to turn off the screaming alarm clock, I headed straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some aspirin from my purse. I heard the shower running in Evie’s room so I knew that she was up and getting ready and that I needed to get moving. Our spa appointments began at 8:00AM and it was already 7:15. After showering and throwing on the first thing I could find, I found her waiting for me in the living room. Luckily the medicine had kicked in and I was feeling a little more human.
“You ready for your makeover? To find out how beautiful you truly are when you aren’t hiding behind all of that hair and those frumpy ass clothes?” she cheerily asked with a huge grin on her face. I knew she was just as excited about this as me, maybe even more so.
“Absolutely. Let the fun begin.” I responded, returning the smile. I was so blessed to have an amazing friend that cared so much about my happiness.
Upon arrival at the spa, we were quickly checked in for our “A Whole New Me” package, which I thought was an especially fitting name for my current situation, and were whisked away to strip and change into plush white bath robes. I had never been to a day spa before, so I had asked Evie all kinds of questions on the way over about what to expect. I was most nervous about the waxing and the massage. The waxing scared me for a couple of reasons—first, I had read about how painful it was and I knew that my threshold for pain was at like a negative two on a scale of one to ten; and second, I couldn’t believe that I was going to allow a complete stranger to not only look at, but touch my private area. Evie tried to calm my nerves by telling me that the aesthetician sees women’s crotches and asses all day long, much like a gynecologist. For her, it would be like looking at any other body part—an arm or a leg. This didn’t make me feel much better, but I really didn’t have a logical argument. The massage scared me for similar reasons. I knew it wouldn’t be painful, bu
t I wasn’t quite sure I was comfortable with a stranger rubbing their hands all over my body. Evie finally told me to shut up, everything would be fine. I needed to just enjoy the day. The first service I was scheduled for was the waxing. I thought I might as well get the toughest part over first, right? I soon found out that tough wasn’t quite the right word to describe exactly what happened to me on that table. “Awful, dreadful, agonizing, excruciating, unbearable” was the terminology that needed to be used when people described having their hair ripped out by the root on the most sensitive parts of one’s body. I truly felt bad for the technician that was trying her hardest to keep me quiet and still. I was pretty sure that the pain associated with waxing had to be up there close to childbirth with no drugs. At one point, I’m positive everyone in the building heard my pleas for her to stop, but she ignored my requests and just kept on manhandling me. What seemed like hours later, she announced she was finished and that I should come back every two to four weeks for maintenance. Did she not remember that only moments earlier I was frantically trying to escape her grasp and screaming obscenities that would make a sailor blush? I just replied with an “okay,” put my robe back on, and allowed her to me lead me down the hall to another room where an elderly woman was waiting for me.
“Hi Scarlett, I’m Joanie and I’m going to be your massage therapist today,” she said as I sheepishly entered the room.
“Hi Joanie, please tell me you aren’t going to hurt me,” I replied.
Her hearty laugh filled the room and helped relax me a bit. This room was much different than the first one I had been in. Instead of bright, cold, and sterile, it was dimly lit with instrumental music lightly playing in the background and an aroma of lavender and eucalyptus teased my nostrils. It was serene and tranquil, and I found it very soothing.
“No sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you. I hope to do just the opposite of that. Let’s get you out of that robe and help you forget the torture that Tina just put you through,” she chuckled.
“Tina? That’s her name? I was convinced her name was Olga and her second job was as a Dominatrix at a BDSM club.”
“I’ll be sure to let her know that she has options in case her job here ever falls through,” Joanie snickered. “Now hop up on the table on your belly, face in that donut looking pillow, and arms by your side.”
The hour long massage was pure bliss. I’m pretty sure at one point I had fallen asleep and began drooling. After explaining to Joan that it was my first time, she did an excellent job of making me feel at ease and relaxed. I was amazed at the way her hands made my body feel—it was incredible, like nothing I’d ever experienced before, not sexual in any way but oh so satisfying. Now that was something I would willingly come back for every two to four weeks. Before I knew it, she was patting my arm, telling me the hour was up. I reluctantly got up off the table, put my robe back on, and followed her to my next appointment still in a sated haze. My nails, hair, and makeup followed the massage and by the end of the day I truly felt like a new person.
After we grabbed a bite to eat, we hit the shops to tackle the issue of my clothes-less closet. I knew that it would take me awhile to build up a full wardrobe, but for now I needed to get the basics. Several hours and dozens of stores later, we were both exhausted but I felt giddy with the bags and bags of goodies in the backseat, especially the ones from Victoria’s Secret.
We finally returned to our apartment a little after seven which gave us a couple of hours to recharge before the party. I felt like a completely new person—my long, dark brown hair now had subtle highlights and long layers that framed my face, I had received a lesson in makeup application from the sales associate at the MAC counter, and I had updated my clothes selection with help from Evie. As I was putting away my purchases, Evie came into my room and sat on my bed.
“So for tonight . . . are we still going to do our book boyfriend challenge?” she asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice.
“Of course, why wouldn’t we?” I asked.
“I was just making sure you weren’t having second thoughts . . . that you just didn’t agree last night because you had been drinking,” she said. “But yay, I’m glad you still want to do this . . . I think it’s going to be a fun way for us to meet new people. Since this is our first time, I want you to pick the “type” we are hunting tonight . . . whatever you will be most comfortable with.”
“Hunting, Evie? Really?” I exclaimed.
“Yes, hunting, Sam. Guys are prey that you hunt, capture, and slaughter. If you don’t have this mindset, you will become the prey . . . I’ve been the prey once, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen again,” she said with a bite to her tone. Evie was still bitter over the only serious relationship that she had been in, and apparently, she wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Okay, whatever, a little dramatic don’t you think?” She gave me a warning look as to not press the issue. I didn’t want to bicker with her. The day had been too perfect to ruin it with something so silly, so I decided to drop it and move on. “Then to make it easy tonight let’s do the ‘Mr. All-American,’ the college frat boy, since we are going to be at a college party. There should be plenty of those to choose from, right?” I asked.
“Sounds perfect, now let’s get dressed to kill,” she grinned as she stood up and walked out of my room.
“Sure thing . . . just let me get out my sexy camouflage dress,” I called after her shaking my head.
Choosing my outfit for the evening was more difficult than I had anticipated. I knew I was overthinking the whole thing, but this was a big deal . . . well, at least to me it was. I didn’t want to look like I tried too hard, or like I was too fixed up, I just wanted to blend in . . . Okay, maybe I wanted to do a little more than blend in. Evie said the party was going to be casual, to wear something cute and flirty but comfortable. Cute and flirty but comfortable, huh? Yoga pants were my idea of comfortable, but I guessed that wasn’t what she had in mind. After trying on everything I had bought earlier in the day, I finally opted for a denim mini skirt, layered chocolate brown and light pink tank tops that snugly hugged my C-cup breasts, and my distressed brown cowboy boots. Unless I was wearing sneakers for a physical activity, my shoe selection consisted of flip flops and one pair of boots. I owned at least twenty different pairs of flip flops in every possible color which I usually wore during the day and with jeans and shorts. My boots were my “dress-up” shoe, usually paired with skirts and dresses. I quickly touched up my hair and makeup, and then stared back at my big brown eyes in the mirror. It was show time.
The drive to Evie’s cousin Jess’s house was quick, only fifteen minutes from our apartment. Unlike Evie and I, Jess attended the University of St. Thomas, another college in the Houston area. I had met Jess many times before. She had spent a week each summer at Evie’s for as long as I could remember, and her and her parents were frequent guests there for holidays as well. I had always liked Jess, she could be a little loud and obnoxious at times, but for the most part I thought she was hilarious. She used to tell us stories about the mischievous things her and her friends would do without getting caught. Both Evie and I had always looked up to her a bit being two years older than us. She knew about my parents’ issues and had always told me if I ran away, I could stay with her and her family in Houston. Of course I never did, but it was so sweet of her to even offer.
The plan for the night was to leave Evie’s car at Jess’s house, an off-campus rental where she lived with two other roommates. All five of us were going to walk to the party together which supposedly was just a block or two away from their house. Afterwards, Evie and I were going to crash in Jess’s room for the night so that we wouldn’t have to drive late and no one would have to pass on the festivities to be the designated driver. I also felt better about going as a large group so I would have several people to stay close to in case I freaked out or something.
We pulled into the driveway of a cute one-story red brick home. You could tell
that it was an older home, but it had been well maintained and there was definite curb appeal. Before we even made it out of the car, Jess had flung open the front door and was bouncing down the front steps to greet us in a hug.
“Evie! Scarlett! I’m so excited y’all are here!” she squealed. “Did you have any problems finding the place? How do you like Houston? Did y’all get settled in?” she continued without taking a breath. She then turned to face me and said, “Wow! You look . . . different . . . incredible actually.”
“Thank you. It’s so good to see you again, Jess.” She squeezed the breath out of me with her embrace. I had forgotten just how over-bearing she could be.
Thankfully getting the attention off of me, Evie answered her questions, “No, we didn’t have any problems finding the place. So far we are loving Houston. And we are somewhat settled in. We still need to go to the grocery store and get Scarlett some more clothes, but we will get that taken care of on Monday before classes start.”
Jess then turned toward the front door and ushered us inside. “Come in, come in. Welcome to our humble home.”
The interior of the home was like walking into an Ikea showroom. It was modern and inviting. The perfect combination of earth tones and bright funky colors were used which made the space fun as well as sophisticated. A thin girl with short blonde hair was sitting on the couch drinking a beer and watching tv when we walked in.
“Evie, Scarlett, this is one of my roommates, Meg Scott. Meg and I have been roommates since our freshman year,” Jess introduced us. She then turned to Meg and said, “I’ll bet you’ll never guess which one is my cousin,” alluding to the fact Jess and Evie looked so much alike. They could easily pass for sisters with their super straight black hair that they both wore shoulder length, with heavy bangs, and their shared olive complexion.
