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I will never forgetmy first sexual experience.
I had just turned sixteen — yes, I was a late bloomer — and the guy I had a crush on was picking me up in his purple, vintage Mustang. One from like the sixties or something because that thing didn’t even have proper seat belts. And when I sayhewas picking me up, I mean he andhis momwere picking me up. Because he still only had his permit and needed a licensed adult in the front seat.
So we get to his house, and his mom goes off somewhere and leaves us to hang out. His house was massive. I can’t remember what his parents did, but they made fucking bank. He had the entire lower level that walked out into the woods all to himself. Which begs the question, why didn’t we just stay in his room?
Who knows. He decides we need to take a ride on the four-wheeler. And I’m ecstatic, right? Because anything that gets me closer to him is a win for me. I get to hold on while we traipse around in the woods, getting muddy and doing things we probably shouldn’t.
But the next thing I know, we’re parked in a clearing, and I’mcompletelynaked and lying on the seat of the four-wheeler with my feet propped up on the back bars. It’s like I was getting ready for a damn pap smear. Knees up and spread wide.
And he’s standing next to me, his cock out while he strokes it, and his other arm extended straight while he finger bangs the absolute shit out of me. And I meanbangs. Dude does not hold back and at the same time has no fucking clue what he is doing. It’s stiff and uncomfortable, and my sixteen-year-old self had no clue what to do with that.
Other than to fake it. And that’s exactly what I did. I knew what it felt like to have an orgasm. I was a late bloomer with other people, not with myself. I wasn’t a nun. So I faked it, making noises like the girls do in porn because I thought that’s probably what men liked.
Anyway, I “finished” and then stumbled my way through the most awkward hand job in the history of the Earth, with him getting annoyed that I wasn’t holding it right. But, Jesus Christ, it was the size of my forearm. I didn’t have the knowledge of how to deal with any dick, let alone onethatlarge.
But I managed, and he eventually finished. He cleaned up on some leaves, and we both got dressed and went back to his house. I’m pretty sure he took me straight home after that, but honestly, I blocked everything out.
And that one experience set the tone for how all of my sexual encounters were going to go for the rest of my life. Because ever since then, I haven’t had a single orgasm that I haven’t given myself. I have mastered the art of faking it — squeeze the Kegels over and over again, moanjustenough to make it believable, and act out of breath afterward when they eventually collapse from their own exhaustion.
That’s what I’m hoping will happen right now. As Ethan’s hips slap against my own, I send up a silent prayer that it will end as I squeeze my thighs and arch my back. The show is about to begin, and if I know him at all, it should make him race toward the finish line.
I don’t even know why I bother. Honestly, I like my alone time, and I can please myself better than any of the men I’ve dated. But I’m not asexual. There have been times I’ve wondered, but I’m not. I know I’m not because even when I know that the guy probably isn’t going to be able to get me off, I still get all the warm and fuzzy butterflies.
I still get wet. I still want them to touch me and try. And I really, really want it to happen. I want to meet the guy that’s going to work my body just as well as I can. Maybe one day, I’ll meet a guy who can make my toes curl and my eyes roll back.
But for now, I’m stuck with Ethan. Well, for this one last time anyway. I’ve been kind-of-sort-of dating him for the past six months. We met at my weekend job at the dog boarding and daycare center, and he’s funny and kind. So I gave it a go.
The show ends, and he collapses on top of me and kisses my temple before rolling off the side. I look over at him, watching his handsome face go all blissed-out while he comes down from the high. He has pretty natural blond hair that many women would kill for, and those eyes…don’t get me started on his eyes. They start off light blue around the pupil and have a dark ring around the outset.
“You’re sure you have to go?” he asks, turning his head to face me.
I blink out of my thoughts and take a deep breath, looking toward the ceiling.
“I do,” I tell him, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “My flight is booked, and they expect me first thing Monday.”
He sighs, but I’m too busy being excited for my next adventure to worry about how he feels. I’ve been bouncing around my whole life, from moving all through high school, to twice in college, and then to San Francisco afterward. And in between all of that, I’ve never held down an actual job. I mean, I’ve had jobs. I’ve worked at restaurants, and in retail, and most recently, as a nanny and a part-time dog day care attendant.
I got a degree in English language, and I really thought I would waltz out with that degree and right into a speech therapy job. It was what I always wanted to do — work with kids in school to get over stutters and other speech impediments so they’d feel more confident about themselves.
One thing led to another, and that job just kept slipping out of my grasp. So many wanted a master’s degree, and I didn’t have the money to go to school for a second time around. So I thought I would get some odd jobs here and there, and that would help me save up to go back.
But school is expensive, and so is existing. Between groceries, rent, and credit card bills, I wasn’t able to save anything, let alone enough to go back to school. And the thought of applying for more student loans made me want to throw up. So I took the first, best-paying job I could find.
Being a nanny is great. I get to work with kids, and I get paid out the ass for it. Meanwhile, I get to live in their house, drive their spare car, and not pay any rent whatsoever. So for the past two years, I’ve been able to pay off all my credit card debt, make a dent in my school loans, and save up to move somewhere new. Somewhere I can start fresh. Again.
And when I stumbled upon this job on a ranch in Montana, I thought, holy shit, that sounds fun as hell. They’re hiring someone to come on and help them with all of their rescue animals, and even though I only have experience with dogs, they were eager to have someone with any experience at all.
My mom thinks I’m insane, moving to the middle of nowhere, Montana, but I couldn’t be more thrilled. I’m excited for the fresh mountain air and the change of scenery. The city is loud and constantly awake, but I want the sleepy pace of Cane Creek, Montana.
“You know,” Ethan starts, rolling over to sit up on his elbow. “We could try to make the long-distance thing work. I could fly to you, you could fly to me. It’s not that far away, and god knows you’ll probably move on once the summer is done.”
That’s what I’m known for — never staying in one place for long. Never holding down a job, a relationship, or a place to live. Everyone has come to expect it of me, even Ethan. It stings, knowing that’s what everyone thinks of me. Not that I haven’t earned it — I have. But I still don’t like it. I want to be seen as someone to be relied on, someone stable and…adult. I may only be twenty-six, but that’s plenty old enough to be seen as a grown-up, for fuck’s sake.
“No, Ethan,” I say, rolling away from him and out of his bed. “I don’t want anything long-distance. And I certainly don’t want to bet against myself and this job already. Just because the trial period is only for the summer doesn’t mean I won’t choose to stay on permanently after.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine.” I hold up my hand, cutting him off but giving him a sympathetic smile as I get dressed. “Today was the last time, okay? You’re great, but this is a fresh start for me. I want to finally start my life. And that means not bringing anything with me. Including you.”
