Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  “Yeah yeah yeah… I heard enough of that story already,” Vivian says, rolling her eyes. “I’m only going to say this one more time: you obviously care for him, but there’s no way you’re ever going to love him.”

  “I want you… I need you… but there ain’t no way…”

  “Jesus Christ, Meatloaf, we gotta get you home,” Vivian says, laughing. “Nobody wants to hear that.”

  “I’m ever gonna love—”

  “You should probably tell him that,” she says, leaning closer to me. “If he’s not giving you butterflies and toe-curling, shoulder-biting orgasms, then it’s not meant to be.”

  “Orgasms? Yeah right!” I blurt, before realizing what I’ve said.

  Vivian’s eyes widen, and her jaw drops. “Jesus fuck, please tell me that I’m not looking at a 20-year-old woman who’s never had a—”

  “Shhh shhh, no… no… of course I have… I was just…”

  “Holy shit, you haven’t,” Vivian accuses.

  “Can we please not talk about this?” I ask, looking around to make sure nobody can hear us.

  “Oh no, we are so talking about this,” Vivian states, taking a long drink out of her beer. “Sarah, if he’s not making you come, going down on you, and all the shit that makes sex what it is, then you’ve got to kick him to the curb.”

  “It’s not… I mean, he does. We do. It’s just… I can’t…”

  “Can’t what?” she asks, coming around to my side of the booth. “Tell me.”

  “Vivian, I don’t talk about this kind of stuff… it’s private,” I say, feeling very uncomfortable.

  “Says the girl with no siblings. Trust me… if you had a sister, then you’d know that there’s nothing you can’t talk about with other women. It’s what we do. We share… we talk… we give away more information than anyone ever needs to know,” Vivian says, turning toward me, hiking her foot onto the seat of the booth, and propping her chin down on her knee. “Now start talking… you said the other night that you went at it on the roof. Wasn’t that hot?”

  “I mean… it was okay.”

  “Did you come?” she asks abruptly.

  Oh Christ. I can’t talk about this stuff with people. “No… I don’t know.”

  “Uhhh, you know when you have an orgasm,” she says. “It’s not a question of maybe or maybe not… it’s yes or no.”

  “Then, I guess no,” I admit, sighing and taking a drink.

  “Did he go down on you? Flick the bean… diddle the clittle?” she asks, crassly.

  “God, this is so weird,” I say, frowning, looking around for people within earshot. “I mean… he touches me—gets me ready. But, I really don’t let him, ya know, like rub me… or lick—”

  “Shit the bed! Are you telling me you’ve never had oral?”

  “I’ve given it. I like to think I’m pretty good at it too,” I boast, hoping to send her on a new tirade about giving head or something else. Realizing that she’s not budging and waiting for more details, I continue with reluctance, “But… but… I don’t want him to do that to me. It’s just… just… gross, I guess.”

  “Gross? You’ve got to be kidding me! Sarah, it’s the greatest fucking thing of all time. Nothing… not one thing in this entire world is better than oral sex… nothing,” she states. “Seriously, you’ve got to let him lick it like a lollipop… and I’ll tell you what. Once you feel that kind of pleasure… that euphoric release, you’ll never be the same. Trust me. Fucking trust the shit out of me.”

  “You get pretty crude when you’re drinking,” I point out, scooting against her. “Let me out. I’ve got to pee… I’ll be back.”

  “I’m always this vulgar,” she says, honestly. “I’ve been holding back around you.”

  “Nice, maybe you should go back to that,” I say, standing. Swaying and grabbing the table, I add, “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Easy Peaches,” she says, grabbing my hand to steady me. “Go pee. We’ll have one more and then call it a night.”

  “Alright, one more,” I agree, heading to the bathroom.

  Holy shit, I’m drunk. I haven’t been this drunk since last spring break when Kyle insisted that I go to Panama City with him and a bunch of his fraternity brothers and their girlfriends. Albeit, we did have a lot of fun—what I remember of it. I needed to keep up and try to hold my own against all those liquored up sorority chicks. Damn, those girls can drink. I swore after that trip that alcohol consumption from there on out would only be to “relax a bit” and socialize a little more. I vowed that I’d never to be so loaded up that I woke up in the bathtub in my own vomit and pee ever again.

  Lived.

  Learned.

  Retained.

  I’m going to need to opt out of that last drink. Otherwise, I might have another intimate evening with a porcelain tub, and since I live in a dorm, I’d rather not find myself on that repulsive communal bathroom floor. I will say this for Kyle though: he’d be right beside me if that ever happens again.

  That spring break is when I realized that I might possibly be emotionally and intimately blocked. Kyle was the undisputed hero of the week. He took care of me and catered to my every need and whim—non-sexually of course. The way he treated me caused some rifts and friction for the other couples that went with us. Envy wasn’t pretty on those girls at all. It’s their own dumb fault for trusting guys that ogled other girls in their presence. Those guys cared more about getting drunk, playing some stupid competitive game on the beach, and hitting on girls with their girlfriends right there than they did about spending quality time with their girlfriends.

  Not Kyle though.

  He was the prince of Spring Break—my prince.

  Like I said, he’s the best friend I could ever ask for.

  “Thank God, I was worried you were passed out in some stall,” Vivian states, when I return to the table. “I got us each another drink… I told Bartender McRebound to go light on your vodka. You’re closing in on the ‘cut off’ point.”

  “I think I’ve hit it,” I say, shaking my head.

  Vivian grabs my cup and takes a drink. “Nah, you’ll be fine. It’s not strong at all.” Handing it back to me, she adds, “I never drink alone—expect for when I am alone.”

  That sends me into a fit of laughter. “Dude, are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, sliding my cup back to her.

  Shaking the cup at me, she replies, “Trying? Uhhh… no… succeeded. But I like you drunk… you actually start talking and spilling shit. I like that.”

  Laughing, I say, “Yeah, I do get a little loose-lipped and start spewing shit.”

  “Ewww… if you puke, I’m out. You’ll have to call the boyfriend for that shit. I don’t do vomit and the whole hair-holding business,” she admits. Glancing to the side, her eyes widen and she turns her head away from the door. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” obviously avoiding eye contact with someone.

  “What? Who is it? What’s going on?” I ask, looking around, confused.

  “Charlie Ryan just walked in… shit, I’ve been totally in hiding since our date the other night. I’m just not interested,” she says, grabbing a menu and blocking us from view.

  “Where? Which one is he?” I ask, looking around.

  Vivian slowly and deliberately lowers the menu, looking at me incredulously. “Whoa, did you just say ‘he,’ as in Charlie is a guy?” she asks, staring at me intently.

  “Well yeah, did I say something wrong?” I question, my head feeling a little fuzzy.

  “Uhhh Sarah, I’m so sorry. I… shit… I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew,” she stammers, pressing her hands to her forehead.

  “Knew what? What was I supposed to know?”

  “Charlie Ryan is not a ‘he.’ Charlie’s a ‘she,’” Vivian admits, biting her lip and furrowing her brow.

  “Charlie is a girl? But you said you had a date with— Ohhh… okay. So, that means that… you… and she… are… okay,” I say, feeling my face redden.

>   “Gay. Sarah, I’m gay… I didn’t realize you didn’t know. If that’s going to be a problem—”

  “No… no… I’m mean that’s cool. I mean, whatever. I watch Ellen—I like Melissa Etheridge,” I ramble, trying to hide my shock.

  I don’t get it. Why would Vivian be a lesbian? She’s so pretty and smart. I mean, not that lesbians can’t be pretty and smart. I just thought that—oh fuck, I’m not going to be good at this—especially drunk. I’m going to say something ignorant and dumb. She’s going to see just how naïve and sheltered I’ve been my entire life. So much for having an actual friend I can hang out with and do girly crap with.

  Laughing, she says, “Seriously? Ellen and Etheridge? That’s like telling a black person that you’re not racist, because you have a black friend or that you watch The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”

  “Well, I do have a some black friends, and I love Carlton Banks. That man can dance,” I reply with a slur, not really knowing how to redeem myself. I pray that I don’t start mindlessly rambling about things I can’t possibly have a clue about. I down my drink, hoping to buy some time while also hoping that I don’t puke up all the alcohol I’ve had tonight.

  “Vivian, truthfully, it really doesn’t matter to me one way or another if you’re… you know… gay or not. I don’t really care about stuff like that. But… I will be honest… I’ve never had a homosexual friend or even an acquaintance who swung that way,” I admit, trying not to ramble on ridiculously. “I’m not freaked out—just surprised. I’m sorry if I was rude. I was just a little caught off guard.” I can feel my verbal deluge, but can’t seem to stop it. I don’t want to offend her, so I want her to know that I’m totally fine with her choices… or being-bornness. I have no idea if it’s a choice or a gene. I know nothing—virtually nothing at all.

  Fuck, I’m drunk. My thoughts are incoherent.

  “Gay is fine… there are a lot of fine gay people. And that’s… that’s fine…”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about. That is the most you’ve ever opened up before. Hell, I would’ve made sure you knew that first day if I knew it would’ve loosened you up and made you start really talking—incoherently, I might add,” Vivian jokes. “And you’ve never had a gay friend—that you know of. There are closet cases all around, Peaches.”

  Sighing, I nod and agree, “That’s probably true.” Glancing over at Charlie-the-Girl, I’m immediately struck by her beauty and presence. Looking around, I notice that all eyes are on her—male and female alike. “Uhhh Vivian, what’s wrong with Charlie? She’s gorgeous.” I suck an ice cube into my mouth for something to chomp on and distract me from my own naïve embarrassment. My head spins from the liquor and confusion of this new bit of knowledge.

  “That’s what’s wrong with her,” Vivian answers. “She spent more time that night fixing her hair, putting on lip gloss, taking pictures… of herself… and flirting with everyone in a hair-flipping distance that I lost interest… quickly.” Peeking out from behind the menu, Vivian sighs and says, “She is hot though… damn… which is why I took her home, fucked her, and never called her back… Oh, and she says, ‘I seen.’ That’s always enough for me to end it immediately.”

  “Ummm did you… I don’t get… ummm ‘fucked’ her? How is that even possible?” I ask, feeling like a total, slurring, stupid asshole.

  Shit, I wish I could keep my mouth shut when I’m drinking. Well, if I did that, then no alcohol would get in—which might not be a bad thing after tonight’s debacle. But alcohol can be so good—especially in times like this.

  “Yeah ‘fucking!’ That’s what it is. You don’t need a dick and a pussy to fuck. You just need two people willing to fuck the shit out of each other and that’s what it is,” she says, candidly.

  “So do you like strap on—”

  “Oh Christ, no. It’s not about the penetration. It’s about the connection, the intimacy… the orgasm. Honestly though, with her, it was just about the orgasm… and the status,” Vivian explains. “I nailed Charlie Ryan—that’s a big deal. She’s a beautiful woman who knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it… but… she’s not exactly real generous in the sheets though—if you get what I mean. But I did manage to get mine.”

  “Information overload,” I announce, closing my eyes to take a moment and process this inundation of information. My head is spinning on a continuous axis from the alcohol and the sexual visuals.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Vivian asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “I am. It’s just a lot to take in. Plus, I did say that I wanted to go to college to broaden my horizons… and meet new people. This would definitely count,” I explain, biting down on my ice cube.

  “Do you wish you didn’t know?”

  “God no, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things… which you’ve obviously proven that you can and will tell me things… more things than I’d actually care to know,” I state as my head begins to bob and feel heavy—heavier than I think I can handle.

  “Alright Peaches, we need to get you out of here,” Vivian says, helping me out of the booth.

  Vivian walks on the other side of me, avoiding Charlie’s line of vision, while nearly carrying me out of the bar. Walking past Charlie, I can’t help but picture her with Vivian.

  Kissing. Hugging. Touching. Naked.

  Giggling, I say, “Whoa, now you’ve got me picturing it.”

  “Picturing what?” she asks, holding the door open for me.

  “You. And Charlie… doing… ya know,” I admit, wondering why my mind would go there.

  “Picturing it? Really? What’s it look like to you?” she asks, stopping on the sidewalk and turning toward me.

  “Ummm… I’m not sure. It looks… pretty, like beautiful… soft even,” I say, nodding at the clarity of the vision.

  “Damn straight it was.”

  “Actually, it was damn gay,” I say, losing it in a fit of vodka-infused laughter.

  “Okay, so now you’re a damn comedienne. Let’s go Rosie, let’s get you to bed,” Vivian says, walking me to my dorm. Or more like, guiding me to my dorm.

  “Rosie! As in ‘O’Donnell?’ I love it. She’s got mad laughs,” I say, stumbling over my words again.

  “She sure does.” After she helps me unlock the main door to my dormitory, Vivian stops and asks, “Let me ask you something, does Kyle try… like want… to go down on you?”

  “All the time… it’s like his number one mission in life,” I say, nodding slowly and deliberately. Giggling, I add, “He wants to sample my taco, my sweet, little meaty taco.”

  “No… whoa… TMI… TMI… I will never be able to un-hear that,” she says, plugging her ears. “Or look at a taco the same way again.”

  “Oh you can be… descriptive, but I can’t? I challenge. “Unfair.”

  “Descriptive? Dude that was repulsive. Never refer to your vag as a taco again—please. For the sake of all things holy and feminine,” I state, fake gagging.

  “Fine, but I still think it’s pretty funny.”

  “Alright, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll stop bombarding you with private questions and prying into your sex life… if you do one favor for me?”

  “Hmmm, why do I have the feeling you’re going to freak me out right now?”

  “Just hear me out… and trust me… it’s a win/win for you,” she says, holding the door open for the three people coming out of the dorm. After they’re out of earshot, she says, “Just once… one time… let him do it. Let him go downtown. And then… then… if you hate it, I won’t bring it up ever again.”

  Groaning, I say, “You can’t bring it up even if I like it either.”

  “So you’ll do it—or let him do it?” she questions, excitedly.

  “I didn’t say that,” I announce quickly. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll think about it… and maybe. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Oh, I can promise you something�
� you’re going to thank me… oh how you’re going to owe me. I can’t wait,” she says, nearly skipping away.

  To:GAM4160@gmail.com

  From:VLMarx37@JMU.edu

  Subject: BETTER

  Gwen,

  I’m better on all counts. (1.) I’ll go to Jeremy and Skankasaurus’ wedding—if Mom and Day pay. (2.) I’m over the fact that Charlie Ryan didn’t return any of my calls. She’s a slut bag only looking to lick and leave. Whore. (3.) I’m pretty sure Sarah and I will ace this project. She’s wicked smart and meticulous. It’s like looking in a mirror… a distorted funhouse mirror that only shows people’s brains and levels of ambition, because in no way do we look alike.

  So yeah, forget the mirror analogy. It really doesn’t work here. I’m trying though. I’m not doing well in my creative writing class. The TA said that I need more symbolism, analogies, and similes. I said, “Fuck off. I can write what I want.” I actually did say that. She caught me at a bad time. Her response was, “I can grade how I want, too.” Bitch.

  Hey, remember that guy, Eddie Lenz that you had such a crush on in middle school? I just found out, via Twitter, that he was arrested for… wait for it… fucking his neighbor’s GOAT! Hahaahahaah you sure can pick ‘em!

  I miss you.

  Love you,

  V.

  “BABE, I’M SO happy for you. I know how hard you and Violet—”

  “Vivian.”

  “Right… Vivian… how hard you and Vivian worked on that project,” Kyle says, hugging me. “We should celebrate. Want to go out?”

  “Nah, let’s just stay here,” I say, sitting down on his bed. “Will Troy be back tonight?”

  Raising an eyebrow, Kyle smiles and says, “I’m sure I could text him and tell him to find somewhere else to crash tonight.”

  “I think you should do that,” I say, coming on much stronger than I’ve ever been accustomed to. Before I can finish the sentence, Kyle leaps over his bed, grabs his phone, and starts tapping out a message to Troy. Then, he throws his phone on Troy’s bed and falls down next to me on his own twin-sized mattress.

  “What do you have in mind, Sarah?” Kyle asks, running his finger along the neckline of my shirt.