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My eyebrows involuntarily ride up at her implication, and she cringes in response.
“I just embarrassed myself, didn’t I?” she says.
“Not at all.”
“It doesn’t take you very long to get yourself to the finish line, does it?”
“Uh. No. It’s not what I’d call a long and arduous process.” I chuckle, and thank God, she laughs with me. I ask, “It takes you a while to get there?”
She’s blushing like a vine-ripened tomato. But she nods.
“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed,” I say. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything.”
“I’ve never talked about this with anyone before.”
“No one? Not even Georgina?”
She shakes her head.
“Your mom?”
She snorts. “No.”
“Really? Growing up, my dad gave me a pretty detailed talk about sex and beating off. It was a little weird. But he meant well. And my best friends and I used to talk about beating off all the time as young teens.”
She shrugs. “Maybe most girls talk about this stuff with their friends, growing up. But I never did.” She chews on the inside of her cheek. “To be honest, I’ve only just started, you know, exploring myself fairly recently.”
“Well, then, it makes perfect sense it takes you a while to get to the finish line.”
“Sometimes, I don’t even get there. It takes so long, I just give up.”
“That’s because you’re still on the bunny slopes when it comes to this stuff. Don’t stress it. Speaking from my own experience, and everything my friends always talk about, women don’t have an on-off switch like men. They’re complicated. If you’re having trouble figuring yourself out, then join the club, dude.” When she smiles, I feel emboldened to continue. I say, “Come on. There are at least a million videos online teaching men how to give a woman an orgasm. And lots of it is paid content. You think there’d be a paid marketplace for that shit if it was an easy thing to do?”
She giggles and shakes her head.
“It’s tough, man! But do you think there’s a paid market for how to make a dude come? Nope. Because all you have to do is this.” I move my fist up and down like I’m jerking off, and she laughs and laughs. “Plus, you’ve never had a partner before. So, how the hell are you supposed to know what works for you? All the Morgan dudes are always going on and on about how they took their woman to new heights and blah blah. I’m sure you’ll start figuring things out way more quickly when you start experimenting with . . .” My chest tightens as I realize I was about to say “Me.” That’s the word I was going to use to finish that sentence. But quickly, I change course and say, “A partner.”
Oh, God. Please, let that partner be me. Because the thought of Alessandra making love to anyone else is making me want to cry. Scream. Commit murder.
She smiles broadly, like she’s reading my exact thoughts. And every fiber of my body heats and tingles in response.
“Thanks for saying all that,” she says.
“It’s all true.”
I shift positions on my bed. “Can I ask you another personal question? As long as we’re having an honest discussion about this stuff.”
She nods. “You can ask me anything.”
My heart is pounding. “Are you a virgin because you’re waiting for marriage, or . . .?”
“No, not at all,” she says. And I must admit, I have to force myself not to sigh with relief. “I’ve just been waiting to feel genuine physical chemistry with someone combined with mutual respect and trust.” She flashes me a pointed look, as if she’s saying, In other words, I’ve been waiting for you. She continues, “I was just talking about ‘love’ the other day with Georgina, in the context of her breakup with Reed. Georgie said, ‘You can love someone with all your heart. But if you don’t have mutual respect and trust, then you’ve got nothing.’ And I think she’s right. So, that’s why I’m saying I want to feel respect and trust, above all else. I want to know I’m giving myself to someone who cares about me. Not just having sex with me.”
I feel tongue-tied, all of a sudden. Rendered speechless. I want to say, “I care about you, Alessandra.” But it’s too presumptuous. It might make her feel like I’m jockeying to be her first. Like I’m assuming I’m going to get to be that guy . . . Shit. I do want to be that guy! Of course, I do. But I don’t want to say something douchey. Or something that will pressure her. Should I say, “I respect you! You can trust me!”? No. That’d be stupid, too. Again, it’d assume too much.
Fuck.
I just realized the silence between us has become awkward.
