The Big O (The Virgin Diaries)

by Bellus, HJ

  “Okay, this is our favorite site when we want to spice things up.” Scout’s perched on the couch with my personal MacBook in her lap.

  “First, who is we and second, what are we spicing up?”

  “Taylor and sometimes we play a game of watching steamy porn and see how long we can go with keeping our hands to ourselves.”

  I sneak another glass of wine, realizing I think I’m already a full-fledged wino. “I don’t even want to know.”

  I’m pretty sure Scout ignores each word that leaves my mouth.

  “I made it about three minutes one time until I couldn’t resist Taylor anymore and sealed the deal with my lips around his…”

  “Shut the hell up. I don’t need the visual.”

  “O, here watch this.” She stands and hands me my laptop. “It will help you loosen up and hey, look at it like you’re doing homework. You need to be prepared.”

  “We are not humping tonight,” I exclaim.

  “Stranger things have happened.” Scout waggles both of her eyebrows at me. She pretends to punt Pedro across the room before waving bye. “Make sure you watch that shit. It’ll have you fucking like a porn star before you know it.”

  Pedro growls at Scout, hence the reason I know dogs can sense evil, when Scout slams the door. I sip the last of my allotted wine, not wanting to be trashed for my date. I set the laptop on the counter and it whisper screams my name, taunting me to take a peek. It’s just like a bad accident you can’t peel your eyes from. Damn curiosity has me all balled up in wonderment.

  The wine glass clinks when I set it down on the counter and without another thought, I flip open the screen and wait for it to boot up. Skin, more like a sea of flesh, covers my entire screen. Ginormous peepees and women’s voluptuous breasts dance in motion. And that’s about all I can handle. My finger accidentally clicks on a link before I have a chance to boot down the laptop.

  “Holy mother loving burning butthole.” I squeal and slam my palm over my mouth as I watch a wanger slam into a butthole over and over again. Both of the moans and whimpers streaming from the video are very deep and masculine and then that’s when I see a pair of hairy nuts dangling below the butthole.

  “Holy shit!” I slam the screen shut. “I’m going to fucking kill Scout.”

  Besides scrubbing out my eyes with a wire brush and pounding in Scout’s face, there’s not much left to get that visual out of my head. I resort to falling back down on the couch and dialing up the one person who always gives me the confidence to push ahead in life. Good ol’ Daddio.

  “Hello.” His asshole dog yaps in the background, making it hard to hear Dad’s voice.

  “Hey, Pops.”

  “Olivia, now aren’t you glad I forced you to keep your landline?”

  I roll my eyes and remember the fight we had over me getting a landline. “Yes, Pops, you were right.”

  “I just know how clumsy you are and I never want you without communication.”

  “Yeah, my new one is on the way, but my insurance cut me off.”

  “Too many claims?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Well, just try to be careful, hun.”

  Oh, if I had a dollar for every time he’s told me that, I’d have enough money to buy my first O.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “So, what are you up to? Calling me on a Friday night and I don’t hear Scout in the background.”

  “Well, Pops, I’m…”

  I stall because the next few words are so damn foreign to me that I’m not sure that I even know how to begin to process them.

  “Gay? Getting a sex change?”

  “Dad,” I squeal in between giggles. He always knows when a heavy topic is coming.

  “I’m going on a date, Dad.”

  “Very good. Another set up disaster type?”

  “No, remember the other day when I said the blind date went well but was complicated?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s that guy. Oh, Jesus. I mean it’s a guy I met that night.”

  “Very good, Olivia. You must like him if you’re giving it a second chance.”

  “Honestly, Dad, I’m scared.”

  “That’s a good feeling to have dear. I’ll never forget how terrified I was when I flew over to meet your mother.” He pauses and I know it’s because he’s getting choked up. He rarely talks about the whole process of him purchasing a mail order bride.

  “It’s okay, Dad.”

  “No, Olivia, listen to me. I wanted to fly home before I met her. I was sick thinking of all the bad things that could’ve gone wrong, but the second I laid eyes on her she made every single wrong in the world right in my eyes. And all my nerves vanished. I brought your mother home, married her, and then we finished off our fairytale with you.”

  “Ahhh, Dad, now you’re going to make me cry and I’ll tell Scout that you messed up my make-up.”

  “Shit, don’t do that. I’m afraid of that girl.”

  I laugh into the phone, petting the top of Pedro’s head. “I love you Dad, even if I inherited all your awkward genes.”

  “Olivia, you’re the world to me and I want nothing more than for you to find that hopeless and endless love like I did with your mother.”

  A knock at the door distracts me, saving me from a full-blown fit of tears. “He’s here, Pops, I gotta go. I love you so much.”

  “Update tomorrow at the shop.”

  “You got it. Bye.”

  He hangs up the phone in his typical abrupt fashion. The man never says good-bye. Refuses to say the word, claiming why say it when I’m not going anywhere.

  With sweaty palms and all, I take each step to the door with a mixture of excitement and whole lot of nerves. Pedro yaps and barks like his ass is on fire. I scoop up the little hellion before opening the door.

  When I open the door, Oren stands before me like I’ve never seen him before. Loose blue jeans, a tight white V-neck shirt, and a dazzling smile. I do believe he looks even sexier out of uniform. Then my eyes land on the large bouquet of yellow flowers he’s holding.

  “Olivia.” He nods, shooting me a dazzling grin.

  “Hey.” I swat at Pedro, trying to get him to quit growling.

  “I know you don’t date, but,” he holds up the roses, “I had to.”

  My face burns with embarrassment at his gesture and then everything else that happens flows out naturally, like we’ve been an old couple for years.

  “Thank you, Oren.” I bounce up on the tips of my toes, giving him a one-armed hug. Pulling away from him is a different story. He’s wearing new cologne that hypnotizes me into the most sex-inducing trance ever. He smells a tad bit sweeter than his normal masculine musky smell with hints of a woody smell mixed with basil.

  “Hey, killer.” Oren pats the top of Pedro’s head and I realize I’m still hanging off him like a freaking crazy-ass monkey.

  I slowly step away, inhaling deeply, relishing the smell without flat-out sniffing him.

  “This is Pedro,” I say stepping back, letting Oren into my apartment.

  “Seems like quite a vicious guard dog.”

  “He’s all bark and no bite.”

  Oren hands me the roses and I melt when the slightest scent of him lingers on them. “Let me grab some water for our dinner roses.”

  I air quote the last part.

  “I like the heels, Olivia.”

  I peer down to the damn hooker heels Scout forced on me and shyly grin.

  “You look gorgeous.”

  “Naw…” I stop myself, remembering the speech Scout gave me earlier. “I mean thank you, Officer, and you my hot cop, clean up quite nicely too.”

  “Man, since moving here I’ve been pulling double shifts, heading home stripping down to my boxers, and then back up at it again.”

  I choke on my own spit, picturing him clothed only in boxers and then getting UP in the morning. Good lord, I need to get a grip.

  “Whoa puppy.”

  I tu
rn back to Oren just in time to get the perfect view of Pedro pounding out his own sexual frustrations at Oren’s ankle. Full-out Yorkie humping like there’s no tomorrow.

  “Pedro, damn you.” I drop the roses into a vase full of water. “Pedro.”

  Finally, when I reach him, I slap his little bump, knocking him out of his perfect rhythm.

  “I’m so sorry, Oren. He usually is only an elbow humper.”

  Oren’s laugh bubbles up from his chest.

  “God, that didn’t sound good, did it?” I stand up with the little horny humper tucked under my arm.

  “You two have to be the cutest pair I’ve ever met.” Oren steps forward, gently places his lips on my forehead, leaving behind a tender kiss before standing back up.

  “Uh…” I fumble like a whore in church for my next few words. “Uh, he pisses on the people he doesn’t like, so I guess you made the cut.”

  “I’m sorry, Olivia, I can’t do this.”

  My heart sinks down to my toes with each of his words. I feel tears begin to pool up behind my brown eyes and wonder what in the hell I did wrong. Did he get that offended by Pedro’s actions?

  Before I muster up the courage to form a word, Oren steps in closer to me, clutches my cheek with one of his large palms, and then dips his face to mine. His gorgeous brown eyes are the last thing I see before his scent knocks all the sense out of me.

  His lips grace mine, running slowly across them, and then his other hand pulls me in closer by the small of my back. Pedro remains frozen, sandwiched between us. Oren’s lips press a bit harder into mine and then he swipes his tongue out along the seam of my lips. I moan with the intimate touch.

  Oren deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth and circling it and then pulls back, just focusing on my lips and peppering them with gentle kisses.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. Standing here and talking to you without giving you a kiss was torture.”

  He keeps his hand pressed on the small of my back, keeping me upright while he tries to apologize for that.

  “Oren just shut up.” I hold my free trembling hand up to him. “That was the best first kiss a girl could ever ask for.”

  “First?” he asks stepping back, clutching the back of his hair and leaving his hands there.

  I shyly nod yes.

  “Shit. Olivia, you are really going to be the death of me.”

  I set Pedro down. The first kiss must have scared the shit out of him because he scatters away, struggling to keep his little legs under him as he scatters on the vinyl flooring.

  The room spins a bit when I stand straight back up, going a bit dizzy.

  “So you’re okay with it?” Oren drops both of his arms. “I know you’re traumatized from dating and banned it.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “So, what are we going to call this?” Oren steps up to me again, wrapping both of his arms low around my waist and backing me up to the counter until my calves hit the cupboards. His fingers dig into my hips as he lifts me up onto the counter. Oren settles his large frame between my legs. His hands glide and mold to the sides of my cheeks as he dips his face lower to mine.

  “I think it’s called kissing.” I mumble into his lips. “Amazing, hot, and the best kissing in the history of all kissing by hot cops.”

  I feel his smile press into my lips before he begins kissing me again. He nurtures my lips with each graze of his. His taste is addictive with each peck. My palms remain planted on the counter, keeping myself steady. A warmth spreads over my body as Oren captures my bottom lip in his teeth.

  He pulls back a bit. “Your turn to kiss me, Olivia.”

  I sit up straighter, curling my arms around my middle, crawling right back into my embarrassment shell.

  “Olivia.” Oren uses his forefinger to lift my chin up to him. “Kiss me please.”

  “I don’t know how to.”

  His sexy smile covers his face. “Close your eyes and jump with me, Olivia.”

  I follow his instructions, fiddling with my fingers until he unclasps my tangled arms, placing my palms on his cheeks. With eyes shut, I lean forward until our lips touch. I fight to remember the movements of his lips and what his actions were. I lavish his taste with each peck and build up more courage with each time our lips touch.

  A low groan bubbles up from his chest, giving me the courage I need to savor one final grace of his lips before pulling back.

  “Best kiss ever,” Oren says standing straight up. “Now, let’s get you to dinner before this turns into a date.”

  “Roses, sweet kisses, and now dinner with a sex god is pretty much classified as a date,” I reply, holding onto his shoulders to help balance myself for the leap down to the ground. I’m not sure if it’s the mixture of the emotion coursing through my veins or the trashy hooker heels, but my legs wobble to the point of my knees knocking together.

  Oren hooks his arm through mine. “Are you okay going on a date with me?”

  “I think I am.” I nod my head. “Just no pasta throwing. I mean, you did pass the Pedro test.”

  Oren is quite the gentleman, opening all doors for me even the one to his Jeep Wrangler, forcing me to pinch myself to wake myself up from this dream. It’s all too good to be true.

  “Gravy Doug's?” he asks, stopped at a red stoplight.

  “Hell yes,” I squeal.

  “I mean, we hit it off there pretty good the first time, so I’d hate to try anything else.”

  “Yum and do I get to still dip your finger steaks in my gravy?”

  “I guess.”

  Gravy Doug’s is dead, which makes me happy. Less staring eyes to start the gossip circle. Oren surprises me when he slides in on my side of the booth until we are shoulder to shoulder.

  “Hey there,” I say with a big smile.

  “You ordering for me? Set me straight on my ways at Gravy Doug's.”

  “Oh, I can show you the light for sure.” I slide the two menus to the end of the table and then feel his hand wind into mine.

  There’s a new waitress who oozes a bit too much sexiness for me. I have to give it to Oren, he doesn’t sneak one peek at her supple cleavage or tops of thighs in her freakin’ boy shorts. Ol’ Gravy Doug must be getting lonely and quite horny in his old age.

  “You do like that chicken fried steak, uh?” Oren asks, squeezing my hand.

  “Yeah, I’m a gravy girl.” I shrug and give his fingers a squeeze.

  “How in the hell have you remained single so long?”

  “I’m a weirdo magnet. No offense.”

  Oren slowly moves his fingers in mine. The movement nearly causes me to melt into a pool of horny teacher.

  “Seriously.”

  “I’m serious,” I reply.

  “Twenty questions?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  I twist in the booth to face him. “What are the rules?”

  “Anything goes.”

  “You get one question and then I ask you one.”

  “Deal.” Oren takes a long gulp of his ice water. “How many boyfriends have you had, Olivia?”

  “You know that answer,” I reply.

  “Seriously and I’m like a walking lie detector.”

  “Fine, one from first grade. His name was Skipper and he was imaginary.”

  “I knew it.” He slams the table.

  His deep chuckle makes the embarrassment creep up into the pinks of my cheeks.

  “My turn.” I reach over and grab his forearm, shocking myself at such a bold move. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

  “Do you want the truth or a lie?” he asks

  “Truth, Oren.”

  “A lot. Too many to count.”

  All righty then, I should’ve picked lie.

  “College?” he asks.

  “State college here in Oregon. Teaching school with Scout, lived in the dorms, watched Seinfeld every single night in my dorm room eating Fig Newtons.”

  “Par-tay animal.”

&nbs
p; “You know it. Okay, Oren where are you from? Where did you grow up and what brought you here?”

  “Slow down, turbo, one question at a time.”

  “I’m boring, Oren. I was raised by my dad. No boyfriend and still have my V card. You’ve met Pedro and Scout, the two other people in my life beside my dad. My mom died when I was nine.” I pause, thinking of anything else. “Oh, and I hate the letter O.”

  “Why do you hate the letter O?” He raises an eyebrow in my direction.

  “Really Officer Oren O’Brien? I’m Olivia Olander who lives in Ontario, Oregon and who is O-less.”

  And I slap both hands over my mouth, instantly missing the feel of his hand in mine. I spread my fingers enough to talk through them. “Talk now before I die of embarrassment.”

  His words are laced with laughter. “I’m from Southern California and a third generation police officer. I have a big, loud family with four brothers and three sisters. And Olivia, I hated my life in California. I asked for a transfer for a fresh start. Oh, and I love the letter O.”

  “No more alphabet allowed in tonight’s conversation and we’re never playing twenty questions again.”

  “Deal. It’s nice knowing more about you, Olivia.”

  “You too, Officer Hot Pants.”

  “You and your damn nicknames.”

  And the food saves the day from anymore awkward conversation. Oren’s a gentleman, letting me dip in his gravy and steal bits of his food from his plate. The man can eat. He puts away all of his food plus my leftovers.

  “Was it as good as the first time?” I ask and then die a bit on the inside, realizing how dirty the question could be.

  “Delicious and the company just as sweet and loveable.” He taps the end of my nose before he goes to pay the bill.

  My heart sinks knowing our date is nearing an end. Even with the horrifying conversation, Oren has a weird way of making me feel comfortable through all of it.

  “Dutch?” I ask, walking up behind him, while staring at his perfect ass.

  “Not a damn chance,” he says without turning around.

  “I can pay my half.”

  “You said it was a date and that means I pay.”

  “Well, thank you, Oren.”

  He turns around, clutches my hand, and holds the door of the diner open for me. “You might not be saying thank you in a few minutes.”