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I couldn’t help giggling at the memory.
“Remember Dick?” I asked Chelsea.
“Dude, I am never going to forget him after what you described. It sounded like a baboon with their ass stuck up in the air, trying to go full Terminator on your mouth or something.”
That was as accurate of a description as could be, honestly. Dick won me over to this point because he acted like a literal Chad, always talking like he knew everything about girls.
Then he stuck his tongue in my mouth and poked around like a slimy alien cactus. It was like he was a renegade Tooth Fairy, looking for loose molars in my mouth.
What sealed his fate, though, was his trying to paw at me as if it were the sexiest thing in the world. I wasn’t having those sweaty, clammy hands scratching at my skin.
Heck, if I had an itch, I'd scratch it myself. What'd I need him for? I’d just jumped out of the car and run back home. Strike one. I’d been single all throughout my school days.
Boys stayed away from me because Dick made sure the whole school thought I was a stuck-up prude. That’s not the kind of chick you want around you when you’re learning about sex, right?
It should have been better in college.
And for the tiniest second, it was. I met this guy. He was three years older. An English Lit student. He could quote Rilke and Frost and make me see the world the way I wanted to.
I told him something he’d never expected to hear on one of our dates. It wasn’t big to me. It was just important. A tiny little quirk. It had to do with waiting until the moment felt right.
I never heard from him again.
So, I’d apparently graduated from being the school prude to being at that age where being a virgin was the biggest sin.
It meant I was too choosy. It meant I was an obligation, that I’d have “expectations” barely-old-enough young adults couldn’t cater to.
I never saw it like that, though.
To me, the only thing keeping me from going to bed with someone was connection. Say what you will, but I couldn’t get my mind around a night’s worth of dry heaving to wake up with no recollection of each other’s names.
No one had made me feel the heat the heroine experienced from touching her baker. There was no raging fire in the pit of my stomach.
Nothing of that thirst that could only be satisfied with hands and mouth and a hard body pressing into me, kissing my lips and owning my soul.
That’s what I want.
“Hey, you still here? Or are you dreamin’ about some hot professor you’re gonna meet tomorrow?”
I snorted. Somehow, Chelsea had this idea that the only way I was going to fall in love, the old, bookish kind of love, was if I found someone older.
There were days when I thought she was right. Men who were older came with experience.
They weren’t looking to learn. They craved toteach.
Maybe that was what was missing from my life.
The bullying at my last college began the minute my ex told the entire freshman year about my virginal status.
Suddenly I was toxic, without ever being touched.
I earned the name, “The Strange Little Nun”. It was everywhere. And then, insufferable young brats left notes in my locker.
Telling me they’d show me a good time and that I’d fall hard for their cocks.
Yeah, disgusting.
I got to the point where I began considering transfers.
