The Nerdy and the Dirty

by B. T. Gottfred

  “I’m very nervous,” he said.

  “It’s okay. You being nervous turns me on.”

  “Why does me being nervous turn you on?” he asked as he inched down my jeans. (They were my tight pair.)

  “Because,” I started, “this means something to you. We get nervous when we care … if you weren’t nervous, it would mean you didn’t care. It turns me on that you care.” My jeans were off. Underwear still on. Both our shirts were still on. He gazed down at my bare legs.

  “Can I study you for a little bit?” he asked. I nodded. He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, my calves, up to my hips. Slowly. Carefully. As if I was precious art. I shivered. “Are you cold?”

  “No, it just feels good.”

  “I am surprised by how much I enjoy touching you. It’s not very logical. It should only be enjoyable for you to touch me.”

  “You’re very good at it.…”

  “I am?”

  “You are.”

  “You make me feel very good about myself, Penelope.” Then as he said this, he pulled down my underwear, exposing me to him. It felt vulnerable, him sitting up, between my legs, staring at my nakedness.

  “Kiss me,” I said, pulling him back on top. But he soon moved to his side and reached his hand toward me.

  “Is it still okay that I touch you?”

  I nodded again. He reached his hand there, but then hesitated. “Penelope, I don’t want to do it wrong. I would hate if I did it wrong.”

  “You can’t … I mean, yes, it can be done wrong … but just go slow. Do everything slow. Like you were touching my legs. Just go slow and you will be perfect.”

  He did. Go slow. Using two of his fingers, he brushed against my pubic hair. It felt nice. I wanted more.

  I said, “You can touch me more.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “More inside.”

  “But I thought the clitoris was outside.”

  I laughed. Fucking Benedict.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because I love that you not only have read enough to know the clitoris is on the outside, but that you actually said the word ‘clitoris.’”

  “I’m glad you love this. But can you show me where it is?”

  “No!” I said before I really thought about it.

  “Why not? You know where it is. I do not. It feels much more logical for you to show me where it is instead of me guessing.”

  He was right. “You’re right … you’re right…”

  “I’m socially awkward, but I’m still very smart.” He laughed at his own joke as I took his fingers in mine and guided them past my hair, past my …

  “There,” I said as my body tensed and released from the sensation. “Can you feel it?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s not that small. Comedians make jokes about how hard it is to find, so I was very nervous I wouldn’t have been able to find it on my own.”

  “Most guys don’t even try, so they pretend it’s hard to find.”

  “Did Paul try to find it?” he asked.

  * * *

  Paul. Paul. Paul … He felt like another life suddenly. Like a life I would never go back to. It would just be me and Benedict in this warming hut forever.

  * * *

  “Should I not bring up Paul?” he asked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about him.”

  “I just don’t want you to compare yourself to him,” I said.

  “Is he much better at this than me? I can learn, I can study…”

  “Benedict! Oh, my gosh, no…” I laughed. “No, Paul never tried to find my clitoris. He never asked. I never asked him to find it either. I wasn’t real with him like I am with you, so I don’t want to blame him, but no, he never tried to touch me the way you are touching me.”

  “So I’m doing a good job?”

  “Yes.”

  “So will this make you have an orgasm?”

  “Benedict, no…”

  “Then you should tell me how to do it so that I can make you have an orgasm like you made me have an orgasm.”

  “I’ve never orgasmed with a boy before, so I don’t know if I can.”

  “But it feels good?” He was so concerned about me. So concerned. The boy I’d thought of as a robot had the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.

  I said, “It feels so good, and I love how you talk to me, and how you ask me questions. I love how much you want to make me feel good. How much you care. See how I keep shivering? That’s because of how good everything is. I don’t need to have an orgasm to enjoy this very, very much.”

  Then he just went and said, “Can I try giving you cunnilingus?”

  “Oh-my-god…”

  “What?”

  “You’re…”

  “Am I being awkward?”

  Yes, he was, but was he? I don’t even know. He was awkward but only if awkward meant being different from anything I’d ever seen or even imagined. He was just so matter-of-fact about it. So I said, “No … no … you’re not. I mean, oh-my-god, it just won’t taste good. Paul refused to ever try because he said he hated the smell so much.”

  Then, OH-MY-GOD, he put his fingers, the fingers that had been rubbing me, into his mouth.

  “Benedict!”

  “What? I’m tasting it.”

  “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “Penelope. You told me I wouldn’t like the taste. But how could I know unless I tried? And so I tried without having to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You’re a bigger freak than me.” I shouldn’t have said that. All I ever wanted was someone to tell me I wasn’t a freak and now I’m calling a boy who may be my sexual equal one. “I shouldn’t have said that. Or I should have said, I love that you are. I love that just put your fingers in your mouth. I really do. I’ll probably masturbate thinking about you doing it tonight. You’re just so comfortable, Benedict, so confident.…”

  “You have made me feel confident about myself.”

  “You have made me like myself,” I said. Saying that made me feel even more vulnerable than having him kneeling between my legs. Maybe he could sense it because he leaned back into me, kissing me. Calming me.

  Then he said, “So you have never had a boy lick your vagina before?”

  “No.” I tried not to laugh, still did a little, but I tried.

  “I know you are very experienced sexually. You know I am very inexperienced. It would mean a lot to me if this could be the thing we experience for the first time together.”

  That was beautiful, but … “I’m scared.…”

  “Scared of what?”

  “I don’t know.…” Just tell him. “That you’ll think I’m gross. Or that I smell. Or that it’s not as good as the ones you’ve seen.…”

  “Your vagina is the first one I’ve seen.”

  “Then the ones you’ve seen online. All those actresses are perfect, with perfect vaginas.…”

  “You’re perfect,” he said.

  “I’m so not perfect.”

  “You’re perfect to me and your vagina will be perfect to me.”

  “You’re saying that … Don’t just say things, Benedict. Don’t be a guy that just says things.”

  “I’m not.…”

  “I know I’m not perfect. I know you don’t think I’m perfect. I get crappy grades, I smoke, I drink, I have this scar.…”

  Without asking, he reached and touched my scar. He ran his finger along the length of it. Paul had never touched it. Three years together, never mentioned it. Never touched it. Never saw it. Never saw the real me.

  “It’s so ugly,” I said, and tried really, really, really hard not to cry.

  “Yesterday, when I masturbated in the shower, I started out imagining having sex with you. But it was hard to imagine your body because I’m a very literal thinker.…” He laughed, then stopped, and leaned toward my face. Studying my scar. I hated him looking at it. But I needed him to look at it just as much. He continued, “So I just
imagined your face. Up close like I am right now. I especially imagined your scar, which, from afar, I would rationalize made you unattractive, but once I saw it up close yesterday…” He stopped, I tensed, he kissed my scar, I calmed, he went on, “… it became the thing I found most attractive. This confused me in the moment. I do not like metaphors because they are not very logical, but I was very horny and perhaps being horny makes me think in metaphors, but when I was in the shower, I was thinking, ‘Her scar is like the best brushstroke on a beautiful painting.’ And right after I thought of this, I had an orgasm.”

  * * *

  I shook my head because … he was too good, he was perfect, and it was too much, I loved him too much right now, and I felt so afraid but also so ready to face my fears.…

  * * *

  “Okay,” I said, and nodded.

  “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

  “You can do it. You can go down on me.”

  “I was not telling you that…”

  “I know. I want you to.”

  “If you ever want me to stop, you tell me and I will stop.”

  “Okay,” I said. Benedict then positioned himself again between my legs and began inching backward. He pushed up my shirt on his way downward, kissing my belly button.

  Then he kissed my pubic hair.

  Then he kissed the inside of my right thigh.

  Then the inside of my left thigh.

  Then he looked at me, his head framed by my legs. “Hello,” he said.

  “I love that you just said hello.” And I giggled.

  “Are you still scared?” he asked.

  “Yes, but also very, very, very turned on.”

  “So I’ve studied this, obviously.…”

  “Obviously.”

  “And in all the porn videos male actors go very fast with their tongue, but the online articles said I should go slow. And you said I should go slow with my hand.…”

  “Go slow.” I braced myself as he leaned his head in. And … it tickled. At first. Then. Oh. Yes. Okay. He wasn’t really going near my clit, but his tongue was so light and delicate compared to a boy’s fingers … made me feel light and delicate and, oh—

  “I found it,” he said, his mouth still on me.

  “You did.…” Which was great, then too much, then—

  “Go around it too, Benedict … everything around there…”

  He nodded and then my body just melted downward, like butter on a pan … not everything, though, no, his tongue was sending gentle waves from its tip to my tip, and my pelvis raised ever so, and …

  * * *

  I didn’t think about anyone else. Didn’t imagine another person or situation. No, but I didn’t just enjoy what he was doing either. It was incredible, yes, but still, not as good as I could do it myself. But that’s not the point. And that’s not what was making this so good.… It was that Benedict wanted to be down there, for the excitement of doing something new, and to please me and only me … that he didn’t just see my scar, but that my scar turned him on …

  I spent three years with a boy who I loved being with because he allowed me to be invisible without being alone … and Benedict, in one day, and with this one act, made me so comfortable in my own skin, so alive in my own life … and that’s what did it, that’s what allowed me to do what I never had done with Paul.

  * * *

  I rose, and I shook, and I moaned, and I came.…

  Still twitching as the orgasm subsided, I finally opened my eyes and looked down at him smiling up at me. Like a boy. Like a boy who knew he got an A-plus on the semester final.

  And there, still between my legs, with my wetness on his mouth, with that grin of his, he didn’t look cool, or sexy … he looked fucking adorable. He looked like the boy I was meant to love.

  51

  BENEDICT

  She orgasmed. On my mouth.

  As I lay there, on my stomach, with her vagina six inches below my face and her bare legs on each side of my head, I tried to remember my old life. You remember, the one from yesterday. The life where I had never kissed a girl. Where I had barely spoken to a girl. Or two days ago, when I almost had a mental breakdown because I couldn’t say a single word to a girl. And now I was here. With Penelope. The girl I’d insisted was not attractive but who was now the most attractive I could ever imagine a girl being.

  * * *

  Moving up beside her, I kissed her. Because that’s what you can do when you have a girlfriend. Was she my girlfriend now? I shouldn’t presume. Don’t ask, Benedict. Yes, that was not important right now.

  “So you didn’t hate it?” she asked.

  “I enjoyed it very much.”

  “But how could you?”

  “Because it made you happy like you made me happy.”

  “But you didn’t actually like doing it, you just liked the end result?”

  “Penelope, look at Penis Benedict.” I pointed down to my groin. “He is erect again. Just like you get turned on giving me pleasure, it is apparent I get turned on giving you pleasure.”

  Her eyes did their now-very-common water producing. I kissed the tears away. “Benedict, I … oh-my-god … I…”

  I could tell what she was thinking. Just as she could tell what I was thinking earlier. “I love you too.”

  “I believe you. I don’t think I ever believed Paul. I don’t believe my mom when she says it. But I believe you.”

  “At Riverbend High School, we do not have much in common. No common classes or friends. But here, in this warming hut, our ability to freely communicate and our very strong sexual chemistry…”

  “And our kindness … We are so kind to each other, Benedict…” she said, then kissed my cheek.

  “Yes, this is true. I also think we are both very smart.”

  “I’m not as smart as you.”

  “Oh, Penelope, I think you have a genius I didn’t know existed. My intelligence is very common. But yours is rare. It is special.”

  “Yours is rare, Benedict.…”

  “YOURS is rare, Penelope,” I said.

  “I love YOU, Benedict.” She emphasized a word just like me. This felt like flirting, and even though I didn’t know how to flirt, I decided I should yell:

  “I LOVE YOU, PENELOPE!” Maybe that was me being awkward, not flirtatious. But then she yelled back:

  “I LOVE THAT YOU YELLED THAT!”

  “IT IS VERY ENJOYABLE TO YELL THAT I LOVE YOU!”

  And then, Penelope yelled, “I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU!”

  I couldn’t yell that back. I couldn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t, I don’t know … I shouldn’t…”

  “I want to have sex very much too. I didn’t want to say it first because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to.…”

  She sat up. Made me sit up beside her. “Oh, I want to, and I’m so happy you want to … but maybe this is too fast. Maybe we should wait.”

  “Yes, you are being very smart.”

  “Yes…”

  “But I don’t want to be smart, Penelope.”

  “Me neither,” she said. She lunged into me, kissed me, then pulled my shirt over my head. I pulled her shirt off, then she undid her bra and—

  “There are your boobs,” I said.

  She laughed. “Usually that’s the first thing boys see, not the last.”

  “Can I touch them?”

  “Oh-my-god, Benedict, you’ve already licked my vagina! Of course you can touch my boobs!”

  “I wanted to make sure it was okay with you.”

  “Yes, yes, you can … and I like how you ask.”

  I reached out and touched them. Fascinating. “They are fun to touch. It’s biological. Breasts give us nourishment as babies, so we subconsciously place high value on them even though they serve no sexual purpose.…”

  “Benedict…”

  “I shouldn’t talk about boobs like that, should I?”

  “No, I love that … it’
s … We don’t have condoms.…”

  “Oh, I have some.” I reached inside my coat to the zipped pocket and pulled out two condoms.

  “I can’t believe…”

  “I am very excited to do something very dumb with you, but I was very smart before.”

  She kissed me. “Do you really think this is dumb? Everything has been great. More than great. The greatest day of my life … I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “You are right.…”

  “I am…?”

  “No,” I said, “you are right that I called this dumb. I apologize. I don’t think this is dumb. Not precisely. I’m nervous. Very nervous. But I don’t think this is dumb, I just think it is something I can’t predict with my thoughts and so I call it dumb. But I think, when I die one hundred years from now…”

  “You’re going to live to one hundred and seventeen?”

  “Obviously.” I smiled.

  “Obviously.” Penelope smiled back.

  “… I will think back on this day and think it was the smartest thing I ever did, having sex with you.” I then took her hand and put it on my penis. “Penis Benedict doesn’t need one hundred years. He already thinks this is the smartest thing I will ever do.”

  Penelope took my hand and put it between her legs. “Vagina Penelope agrees.”

  * * *

  She put on the condom because she knew how to do it right. I liked watching her do it. Then she lay back on our bed of coats and I got on top of her, my body pressing into her.

  “Am I squishing you?”

  “No. I like you against me like this.”

  “I’m not sure how to start.”

  “Scoot up a little and I’ll help,” she said. As I did, she reached around, grabbed my penis, and guided it inside her.

  * * *

  I’m not sure I had ever thought about how it would feel. I guess I thought it would be like masturbating but masturbating inside a girl’s vagina. But it didn’t feel anything like that. I didn’t really concentrate on what my penis was feeling at all.