by Gabi Moore
“Well, you’re not really my type, you know,” he laughed.
It was like a stab. The moment was so strange, and I was there, desperately trying to grasp what I was saying and he was saying, that this little quip seemed to me like a sword sunk straight into my heart. Without thinking about it, two fat tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Hey! Don’t cry! Oh man, just chill. It’s OK. OK?’
He looked genuinely concerned. He reached over the folded ends of his hoodie sleeve and smeared away the tears. “Look, no offense, but you’re …how do I put this? You’re young. You’re kind of inexperienced. And you’ve got …issues. About sex.”
I sobbed loudly, “I do not have issues,” I said, realizing that the snot bubble on my nose at that point was seriously undermining my credibility. It felt like one of the arguments I would have with an older brother about whether I was or was not too much of a ‘fraidy cat to ride the same rollercoaster all the big kids did.
“Oh yeah? You look at some pretty messed up shit online.”
“That’s private, you creep.”
“Whatever.”
I was still smarting from the suggestion that he had anything other an all-consuming obsession with deflowering me. For the first time, I found myself with the ridiculous thought that Aunt Carol had something that I didn’t.
The world went on outside us, busy, far removed and uninterested in our little car-sized drama.
“…if I paid you?” I heard myself saying in a stranger’s voice. I didn’t know what I was doing, but it was scary. I wanted him. And I wanted him to grab me and throw me around and call me a slut and fuck me till it hurt. Oh God where did that come from?
“Mel, you’re high, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t be so patronizing to me.” It was a word I had just learned, and was proud I had remembered it.
“I’m not! But you’re out of your depth. This was a mistake.”
“No it wasn’t.”
‘You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Yes, yes, I know, I’m a baby and I couldn’t possibly understand anything. Whatever. You’re only a few years older than me, you know. What makes you such an expert?”
“I never said I was -”
“You don’t do anything mystical, you just sell your body. For sex. Whatever else you say about it, at the end of the day that’s all it is. You’re the one in denial.”
He went quiet. In my small, teenaged way, I felt this as a victory, and pressed on.
‘Show it to me. I want to see it. Show me what my idiot aunt thinks is worth throwing her life away for.” I looked down at the dark wet streaks my tears had left on his cotton sleeve.
“Show it to you? My…? You’re crazy,” he said.
“I’ll give you $100 dollars if you show me your …dick.” I had never said that word out loud, not least to a man.
He stared at me, jaw working silently. Perhaps I was indeed just saying stuff because I was high.
“Ok, fine. What’s the big deal? You think I care? This is so fucking immature…” he said, loosening the drawstring on his pants. The next few moments unfolded quickly, but would remain burnt into my mind for many, many years to come.
He wasn’t wearing any underwear, to my surprise. He yanked down the elastic of his grey track pants and there it was, the first real life penis I had ever seen, a beautiful thing, kind of scary looking. All I could do was stare. With a little flutter of recognition, I realized he was slightly …hard. It was a smooth cock, smooth as the rest of him, dead-straight and milky white, the head of it a bruised pink color ending in a flared rim under which two, just two, fine blue veins disappeared. I was mesmerized. Dicks, it turns out, are rather complicated up close, and not just some devil-tubes designed to poke you and your virtue to hell. It was its own little organism. And it looked so smooth. My mind flashed to how pillowy soft his hands had felt on my chest only a moment ago – or was it hours ago? I couldn’t tell.
“Satisfied? Do they teach you at bible camp what to do with one of these?” he scoffed.
Actually I was mightily satisfied, but said nothing. I hated seeing him so defensive all of a sudden. I wanted him to be playful again, and lighthearted. I wanted him to look at me like he did a moment ago. I guess I would pay for that feeling again after all. I was too tightly wound. I was too uptight. Maybe he had a point and wasn’t a total meathead.
“Well that’s a very nice penis,” I said, hoping for the first time that I hadn’t hurt his feelings. I felt the beginning of a headache forming. He nodded and tucked himself back into the waist band, and I must admit, I was sorry when he put it away again, and I stared for a few moments at his crotch, almost missing the sight of it there.
“Sorry for calling you an idiot all the time.”
“No problem.”
“And sorry I insulted your …profession.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“So …will you?”
He flashed nervous eyes at me. I don’t know if it was because I had just seen his pink, bulging cock, but he suddenly seemed kind of naked in the way he was looking at me.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
He zipped his hoodie up as high as it would go and started the engine, and we drove home in silence. I felt the smoky feeling in my head subside a little, and came down with the strong impression that things were now changed permanently, and would never be the same again. It was comfortable with him now, somehow, and yet deeply terrifying all the same.
He dropped me outside my house.
“Use some eye drops and brush your teeth. If you still feel the same tomorrow morning, I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Eight
I used some eye drops. I brushed my teeth. I lowered my eyes and went up to my room. Even if I had bumped into my mom, she probably wouldn’t have detected anything, seeing as her pamphlets probably told her that those who did drugs sprouted syphilis sores on their forehead in the shape of the word UNCLEAN or something.
I closed my bedroom door and tried to think.
Did I really have issues? Issues about you-know-what? What was the point of being a virtuous virgin if nobody wanted me anyway? It was an ugly thought, that men would want something other than purity in a woman. That Reverend Peters maybe didn’t know everything about the hearts and minds of men. Or women, for that matter. It had never occurred to me before that my virginity could actually be a handicap. I felt thrown off balance. And worse, I now had three secrets. Or even four? Five?
I went to my bed and lifted the covers, pulling out a secret box hidden underneath. Stashed inside the box: a few items that Aunt Carol had mercifully pretended she hadn’t noticed me steal from her Oh! So Good bag of tricks. There was a small packet of “personal lubricant”, which I had not decided how I would use yet, a cheaply made black g-string with a magenta bow at the center, some body glitter, a ribbed condom and a small jar of edible chocolate body paint.
To another woman, all of this might have seemed like tacky junk, but to me it was a little treasure chest of something powerful and dangerous, a dress up kit where I could play at being everything I wasn’t. I wasn’t that surprised to see his dick, honestly, but I was surprised by how much I liked it. I briefly thought about how there didn’t seem to be any room, on any of my Pinterest boards, for such a tacky pink-and-black theme like this one.
These new thoughts thrummed over me: maybe my mother was wrong. Maybe Aunt Carol, with her freckled hands and over processed hair and mid-life crisis …maybe she was right. Maybe he was, too. I stripped down, slid on the g-string and took a long look at my reflection. Wrapped round the mirror frame were faded and torn cherub stickers from first grade, some plastic flowers. But inside the frame was a young girl in black lingerie. It was a striking, and uncomfortable mess. It was an accurate picture of my life, in other words.
I ran experimental hands down over my body, trying to find answers there, trying to determine that precise fold or cur
ve where my virtue was hidden, or else proof that I was as bad as him. I found only soft, warm flesh, and skin that made me think of him again, in the car. Vulnerable and pinkish – how could anything be wrong with flesh?
My nipples protested against the cold. I watched goose bumps form on my upper thighs. Jared didn’t judge me, although I had judged him. I thought again about my request. His open ended answer. My head was no longer as fluffy, and a little ache of embarrassment was growing, but something else: I didn’t change my mind. I had only said what I had been thinking for a long time now, ever since he appeared in my aunt’s life months ago.
I looked at myself once more, then got back dressed. I didn’t want to be like my mother. And I didn’t want to be like Aunt Carol either. I wanted to be my own person, and do what I wanted to do.
And at that point, there were many, many things I wanted.
Chapter Nine
The next day, and the whole of the week after that, I heard nothing from Jared.
I didn’t open my hidden box again, and tried to pretend I wasn’t offended that he wasn’t just dying to hear what my decision was. I couldn’t bear the humiliation of texting him, even though I had his number. So I waited.
He wasn’t with Aunt Carol either, who seemed disturbingly unaffected by his absence. They had been a little cool with each other ever since they came back from their vacation. Didn’t she care that he was probably off with other women? Throwing that easy smile off to anyone who had the cash for it? But she genuinely didn’t seem to care, and I was irritated, both for myself and on her behalf.
After two weeks had passed, I more or less resigned myself; the weird Jared-shaped hole in my life had been allowed to get way, way too big anyway. Besides, two weeks was just enough for two times at church, which seemed to be the magic number to snap me out of …it. I had gone more than fourteen whole days without watching any porn, and perhaps that many hours without imagining it, with Jared plugged into all the leading roles and with my own innocent limbs instead of that girl’s.
I was doing well.
So, of course that’s when he decided to pitch up again.
My mom and I were at my aunt’s, who was graciously hosting our bake sale prep but not interested in the least in helping, especially after we didn’t laugh at her joke to put booze in the cupcakes. Then he waltzed right in, like he owned the place. My mother’s face, even if it wasn’t already halfway to doing it already, nearly fell to the floor, and she stammered and tried to introduce herself to “Jeffrey”.
My aunt seemed a little boastful and showed him off, proud that her contribution to the day was not a box of baking equipment for a church function, but a hot stud in a muscle shirt.
“Oh hi Jeffrey,” I said, hoping he’d catch a good glimpse of how modestly I was dressed. He didn’t. He was instantly between my mom and aunt somehow, and they were cooing over him like he was a new baby, except the baby had thick biceps and you could see his nipples.
“Carol you’ve never bought him over, I keep telling you, why don’t you bring him over for dinner.”
“And share him? Never”
“Carol!”
“He’s not interested in old fart things like dinner you know.”
“Now ladies, ladies…” he said, as though he was born to fend of stay at home moms throwing themselves at him. I knew my aunt had fully lost her senses but I had to say I was surprised my mother seemed to like him. He had both his hands raised, and both his eyebrows too, as if he’d be breaking up a fight between them any second now.
“Come help us in the kitchen Jeffrey,” mom said, but my aunt had pulled him onto the couch with her. He scarcely looked at me. In fact, I wondered if he remembered our exchange at all. What a slut. Can you call a man a slut?
The two women then busied themselves with fixing him something to drink, and they both simply had to do it, and they were both sure the other one wasn’t doing it correctly. I was alone in the living room with him, again, because of course I was.
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” I said.
He beamed.
“Aww… little Mel missed me! Well, I missed you too.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Yeah OK, you got me, I don’t usually miss people. Let’s get out of here – your mom’s going to make me frost cookies or something. Wanna go for a drive?”
I eyed him suspiciously. Not much of a gentleman. “Fine.”
We made our excuses (we’ll go to the mall to fetch more sugar!) and were back in the car again, which was strange since the day before I had vowed up and down that nothing he could do would make it up to me, and I didn’t care how sorry he was for ignoring me for ages, I was a good girl, and he’d better not dare treat me like that again.
But instead, I sat nervous in the car – this time, his car – and I didn’t know what to say. It seemed pretty useless, in hindsight, to read about all those parables and fairy tales if I was just going to lose my virginity to some toy boy in a car. Oh my god where did that come from?
By the time we stopped in the mall parking lot, all two weeks of my church-going had been undone. He turned off the engine. But instead of saying something, anything, he moved to get out and go into the store. Didn’t we have the hugest thing to talk about?
“Jared…” I started.
“Yeah?”
This was all wrong. He hadn’t even glanced at my skirt, the shortest one I owned. “Well, I went home and thought about it…”
“Thought about what?”
I wanted to die. My face stung, but he laughed,
“Hey, I’m just kidding! Chill. You take things too seriously.”
“I want to,” I said quickly. Perhaps a bit of romance could be wrangled from this wreck after all. It had to be him anyway. All the boys in my youth group were hideous.
“You want to …what?” he said, teasing, then ducked out of the way as I tried to punch his arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you say it, I know how you Christian girls are.”
I suppressed a smile, even though I was majorly offended. Seriously.
“Good. Ok. I’m busy this week. I’ll come and fetch you on Thursday and we’ll go to my place. Bring $800.”
I swallowed hard. Was he joking again? This was outrageous. Surely he didn’t expect me to…?
“What, you thought you wouldn’t have to pay?”
I would have died rather than admit that I did think that, actually, and assumed that only, well, older ladies had to pay. Surely he should be grateful that I was letting him… and not the other way round…
“No, of course not,” I said, not wanting him to catch even a whiff of desperation. Just business then. Nothing funny here at all. There was the small detail of me not actually having $800, but I pushed away the thought.
We sat silent for a while.
“I’ll bump the price down a bit, if you’ll agree to let me do things my way.”
I stared at him.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, and he laughed. We went inside the mall and bought sugar.
Chapter Ten
The only thing I had in my sexual arsenal was a stolen black g-string and my one short skirt, which I already knew had absolutely zero effect on him. Everything had been fastidiously organized: I was “going to Alice’s house for a sleepover” and both my mom and aunt were too engrossed in chatting about when Jared would come back they barely noticed. He would come at 5, when I was the only one home, and Alice had been bribed and threatened to within an inch of her life to play along. The stage was set, and I was realizing with some irritation that I had no outfit for the occasion.
It didn’t matter, because the second we arrived at his house, he ordered me to strip down. No hello. No jokes, no anything. Just, “Take that off. Anyway, don’t you wear that to church?”
I did, but tried to act as though a response was beneath me. In truth, the most shameful thing at that moment was that I had managed to scratch together just $641, but w
hat was he going to do? Call the police? ‘Hello officer, this lovely girl has robbed me of one sex and didn’t cough up, please arrest her’ – I think not.
“Take it off? I’ll get cold” I said.
“Oh, you’ll warm up.”
His house was sparse, a bit like I had expected, the den of someone who was a High School student only a second ago, and the recent money that had come into the decoration hadn’t quite pushed out the Playstation or frat-boy posters. The entire place smelled like his cologne.
I walked to the bathroom to get out of my clothes and get things underway.
“Where are you going? I said strip.”
Oh.
I cautiously unbuttoned my skirt and took it off, then removed my top as well, lingering a little in my bra and the g-string, wondering what he would have to say about them.
“All the way, everything off,” he said. He was sitting on a bar stool and running his eyes over my body. Did he like my breasts? Was I turning him on at all? Was this just business as usual? It was hard to say.
“You know it’s my first time, right?” I said as I peeled off the bra and panties and laid them down over my clothes, folded neatly on another bar stool.
“Yeah it’s my first time, too. My first time deflowering a bratty little princess like you. And I’m going to enjoy it.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I didn’t know what to think first; that he thought so little of me …or that he seemingly enjoyed thinking it. You know, for a guy who had talked me into this and basically led me astray, you’d think he’d take more responsibility for all of this. I stood still, waiting for my next order, I guess. Could he call the Better Business Bureau if he found out I didn’t have the cash? What do you think $159 worth of “his way” would look like, anyway?
I straightened my shoulders and stood tall, stark naked. Let’s see what everyone makes such a fuss about.
He slid off the bar stool and sidled up to me, then, maintaining an excruciating inch of distance at all times, he moved round my body, top to bottom, the front and the back, as though sizing me up. Each little hair stood on end under his gaze. I had the dumb realization that of all the porn clips I had seen, curiously they missed all these beginning parts. Were we officially started now? Was I, you know, “on the clock”?
