The Ex Effect

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Ash

Can you be sexually cursed?

And I don’t mean that in a cute “magical hex” kind of way. The old “ Oh shame, she has such bad luck ” kind of way. I mean in the most serious way possible. In the “ Oh fuck, her eyes are rolling back in her head—she’s projectile vomiting green stuff ” kind of way. Because that’s me. Seriously, sexually cursed. If there was an exorcist for the kind of curse that I’ve been living under, I would call them. But I don’t think the Catholic Church has a branch that deals with sexual curses. In fact, it would be easier if I was possessed by Satan himself, then I could call someone who would arrive with a rosary and holy water, and chant incantations at me.

I’ve even thought of going to a sangoma, a traditional healer who would throw the bones and give me a concoction of herbs and ground-up dried chicken foot in an attempt to break this evil curse. I haven’t yet, but after last night’s Datr date, I think that powdered animal hoof and dried tree bark would be preferable to what I’d had to endure and was currently enduring.

“And you injured yourself how?” the physiotherapist asked in a thoughtful manner as he laid his fingers round my neck.

“Yoga,” I said, wincing as he attempted to push my neck forward.

“You really shouldn’t push yourself too hard,” he said, taking my chin between his hands and moving my head from side to side. “One really needs to listen to one’s body.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” I mumbled sarcastically, because I knew there would absolutely not be a next time. Last night was the first time, the last time and the only time all rolled into one. Datr date Brad— 35, Adventurer, Dreamer, Explorer —was not going to be exploring another centimeter of my body if I had anything to say about it. Last night he’d been such an eager beaver explorer that he’d dropped me on my head while trying to dangle me over a chair so he could take me from behind, evidently. But, as the stupid adventurer had removed his foot from the chair to undo his zipper, the entire chair fell over. I’d fallen flat on my head, hence the need to be at my physio’s office at the crack of dawn before a very busy workday, for which I was now definitely running late and which would have severe knock-on consequences for hours to follow.

“It’s very tight,” the physio said, pulling my neck as far back as he could so I was now looking at the celling.

“Mmm,” I managed, and then tasted something sour in the back of my throat. Because the last time someone had used the word “tight” in relation to me, I’d almost vomited. Call me a prude, but when someone, a man—Simon, 32, looking for someone to keep up with my witty banter —had whispered in my ear while watching the Barbie movie, that he hoped I would be wet and tight for him, I’d put the popcorn down at my feet and walked out. Not before turning to him and telling him I did not think his style of witty banter was for me, or any other women on the planet, for that matter.

“I think you’re going to have to come in again this week so I can continue manipulating it.”

“Sure,” I said, now looking at the left wall of his office where a large medical diagram of the human musculature hung. I zoned in on the thing dangling between the legs of the male medical drawing. Yup! That, right there, was the problem. It could all be blamed on that , that appendage. That was the cause of it all. The cause of my neck injury, the cause of the terrible yeast infection that took weeks to get over, the cause of one of my broken crowns—and do you have any idea how much a dentist charges to fix one of those things? I almost considered taking out a second mortgage on my apartment—one trip to the emergency room, for him, not me, when Charles, 40, young at heart , had a mini heart attack while humping me. Doing chest compression while waiting for an ambulance to come is a serious mood killer. Not that the mood had been that good to begin with, him banging away on top of me had not actually been that enjoyable. So call me a bad person, but when he’d fallen backwards off the bed and started grabbing at his chest in what looked like pure panicked agony, a part of me was actually relieved.

That appendage over there, which nestled so perfectly between the abductor muscles, had also been the cause of another emergency-room visit, for me, not him. Who knew one could be allergic to tingling and warming condoms? And who knew your labia majora could grow to such a majora size? That appendage had been the cause of many, many, many fake orgasms over the years, copious amounts of pretend moans and a lot of pornographic lip biting. I’ve discovered that biting your lip seems to drive them wild, making them reach orgasm far quicker, thank God! That appendage had done nothing but cause heartbreak—so much heartbreak—and pain over the years, and none more so than a very unlucky number thirteen years ago . . .

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

“I can’t believe you guys are finally going to do it tonight,” my best friend Sarah said, sitting on the closed toilet while I sat in the bath and shaved my legs to within an inch of their life. I wanted everything to be perfect, and having one hair left on my leg was not in line with the vision of perfection I had for myself.

“It’s going to be amazing,” I said, taking the razor to my big toe as well.

“You guys have waited so long,” Sarah added, fiddling with my various bottles of nail polish, trying the different shades on.

“I know. We just wanted it to be special. We didn’t want to rush into it, even though it’s been really hard not to at times.”

“It’s going to be so worth it,” Sarah replied. “I wish Brad and I had waited a while.”

“Why?” I asked as I focused carefully on my knee now.

“I think we rushed it. I mean I liked him when we had sex, but I wasn’t in love. Not like you and Logan.”

I felt a hot swell in my belly. “I am so completely in love with him. And that’s why everything needs to be perfect tonight!”

“Speaking of, this is the perfect nail polish—it’ll match the lingerie you bought.”

She held up the soft pink polish that did indeed match the corset-style bra, matching G-string panties and a suspender belt and stockings I’d bought for tonight.

I slid down further into the warm, lavender-scented bath water. Tonight was going to be perfect. Magical. Logan and I had been dating for two years and tonight, the night of our farewell ball, the end of our school careers, we were finally going to have sex. This was it—the perfect time we had been waiting for. We were going into a new phase of our lives: adulthood, university, the next chapter. And I wanted to start that next chapter of my life the right way, with him. All of him. I was so glad we’d waited, because this was going to be a moment that we would remember forever, because we intended on spending forever together. And this was the start of that.

“Like this?” Logan asked.

“I mean, sort of . . . maybe . . . I don’t know.”

“This?”

“Nooo, not like that.”

“Let me try again.”

“Maybe try a different angle . . . ?”

“I could go a little left?”

“Yes, left. Good idea. Left.”

“Like this?”

“Mmmm, maybe that’s a little too far left? . . . NO , too far right now!”

“Okay, I think I almost have it.”

“Nope, still wrong direction—maybe a little bit up . . .”

“Up, okay, up.”

“A little too far up, definitely down a little.”

“Down.”

“Yup, keep going down . . .”

“Okay.”

“And push a little more.”

“Pushing.”

“. . . TOO FAR DOWN ! TOO FAR DOWN ! STOP PUSHING !”

“I’m just going to the uh . . .” I jumped off the bed, not bothering to finish that sentence, and ran for the bathroom leaving Logan sitting on the bed. As soon as I was inside, I looked around. I climbed into the shower and closed the door, hoping that would muffle the sounds of the talking I was about to do as I dialed Sara’s number.

She answered on the first ring. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Oh my God, it’s a disaster.”

“Have you guys had sex yet?”

I put my hand over the phone receiver and lowered my voice even more. “We tried. It didn’t work.”

“Why are you whispering? Wait, where are you? Is he there?”

“I’m in the shower in the bathroom. He’s in the bedroom.” I raised my voice slightly so she could hear.

“What do you mean it didn’t work?”

“It just . . .” I held my head. “Didn’t go where it was supposed to go.”

“Okay, what does that mean?”

I took a deep breath. “It means that it didn’t go in the right place, okay?”

“What place did it go?”

“The other place.”

“ OH MY GOD .”

I pulled the phone away from my ear at the loud sound. “Shhhh, don’t shout.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Sarah was whispering again. “But let me get this straight. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes, it was terrible. I thought sex was meant to be good! Especially when you’re so in love, but it’s been a disaster since it started.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Okay, so you know we’ve done almost everything, right?”

“Except you haven’t gone down on each other, and, like, actual sex.”

“Right, so he tried to go down on me, and it, God this is so embarrassing , it didn’t . . . He’d didn’t . . . He licked the wrong place, okay!”

“ NO , not that place???”

“ NO ! God no, but he was nowhere near where he should have been. I kept trying to move him there, but that just made him more confused or something, because then he started to blow on me.”

“Blow? As in, with air?”

“Yes!”

“This makes no sense. You’ve got to be joking, right?”

“I’m not. And it still gets worse, because when he went back to licking, I could feel him licking out the A, B, C. I could even hear him whispering the letters out loud. He went all the way to Q when I faked an orgasm just to get him to stop!”

“Oh God, Ash, this is . . . This is . . .” It was clear she didn’t have the words. I didn’t blame her either. Neither did I.

“And I wanted it to be amazing!”

“The first time is never amazing.”

“Your first time wasn’t like this!”

“No.”

Suddenly I heard a knock on the door and quickly cut the call off.

“You okay in there?” Logan asked through the door.

“Fine! Fine!”

“I thought I heard you speaking to someone?”

I panicked and threw myself out of the shower and looked around. “Uh, no. I was watching something on . . . Just, I’m coming. Soon.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, sounding worried.

“Fine. Give me five,” I shouted back, and waited until I heard him leave.

I went back to my phone, this time messaging Sarah.

Ash: He heard me talking. Let’s message. What if we’re just not sexually compatible?

Sarah: But you’ve been sexually compatible so far.

Ash: But what if we’re not sexually compatible at actual sex.

Sarah: Is that a thing?

Ash: What if we’re no good at sex?

Sarah: Okay, don’t panic. This is your first attempt. Just take a deep breath.

Ash: I’m trying.

Ash: Crap, and now my phone battery is also low. I’m going to have to go soon. What should I do?

Sarah: You guys have waited so long you’re probably both just freaking out.

Sarah: Try again. But be more chilled. Take the pressure off. Have a glass of champagne or something. It’s probably just nerves.

Ash: You’re right—it’s probably nerves.

Sarah: Totally!

Ash: Okay! I’ll try again.

Ash: I just wanted tonight to be perfect.

Sarah: I’m sure it’ll be perfect when it happens.

Ash: You think?

Sarah: I know.

Ash: You’re right. I mean it’s impossible to love someone so much and hate having sex with them, right? When you’re in love, sex is meant to be amazing. It’s not meant to be this terrible, right?

Sarah: Exactly!

Sarah: Go make it happen!

Ash: Okay. I will.

Sarah: It’ll be amazing.

Ash: I know it will.

1 HOUR LATER

Ash: Can you come and fetch me please?

Sarah: Did you guys have sex?

Ash: Well, he got it inside the right place this time.

Sarah: That’s great.

Ash: But only for five seconds . . .

Sarah: Oh, that happens. They finish really fast the first time.

Ash: That’s not what happened.

Sarah: ?

Ash: I don’t think Logan should drink champagne again. Ever.

Sarah: Did he pass out?

Ash: Yes . . . but not before vomiting all over my naked body . . .

Little did I know that would be the last time I saw him. And little did I know how badly it would cause my heart to shatter into a million microscopic pieces that took me years to retrieve and painstakingly put back together until it was whole again—well, almost whole .

Because sometimes I feel like there’s still a tiny part that I’m yet to retrieve, a part that is still missing. I guess that’s what happens when you lose the love of your life.