Chapter 8
“And then he ran out the door like his pants were on fire without any shoes on!”
“Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard. Tell it again. But this time, with more pizazz,” Livy taunts with jazz hands.
Yes, I called Olivia and begged her to come over immediately to rescue me from this nightmare. No, I didn’t call my sister. Sisters tell each other everything, but I omitted telling her about the giant blue dildo I ordered because I’m so horny living with Connor I might combust.
“Livyyyyy, what am I going to do? Do you think he knows? Oh god, he knows, doesn’t he? I have to move out. Can I move in with you? I bet my boxes are still in the dumpster!” I move to run out the front door, but Olivia blocks me.
“Slow down, babe. You’re talking faster than me and it’s freaking me out.” She gently coaxes me back to the couch and to sip some water.
“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not, honestly.” My eyebrows hit my hairline. “I mean, he might’ve figured out the gist of it, but either way, you have to move forward. Just act like it never happened and let it blow over. He sure as hell isn’t going to bring it up, so why torture yourself?”
He knows. I know he knows. Does he know that I know he knows?
I hope there’s somewhere nice on the ranch Izzy can bury me because I’m going to die from mortification.
“Livyyyyy!” I repeat, louder and whinier. “I don’t have the brain capacity for this! I have finals in a couple of weeks, and I’m supposed to be focusing all my energy on studying. Not obsessing that my best friend knows I need a silicone friend to help me get off!”
“Everyone masturbates. It’s not a big deal. You don’t think he’s choking his chicken on the reg?” Olivia asks plainly, like she’s asking what time it is.
When did I miss the day everyone became cool about sex? I’m not a virgin. But I might as well be because it’s been years…
Junior year of high school, I wanted to get it over with and lose my virginity on my terms. Izzy’s assault two years prior destroyed her, and I needed to control my first time. In retrospect, I wasn’t ready. But what’s done is done. It’s not like I was the only one my age fooling around.
The week before school ended, I went to a ranch party and ended up dancing with a boy I had a crush on. Peter Rickard was sweet enough. He was on the baseball team, didn’t get into trouble, and most importantly, looked nothing like Connor.
I’ve always stayed far away from men who reminded me of the man of my dreams. It’d be like hooking up with the store brand because I can’t afford the name brand.
Since I was old enough to know what sex was, I’d dreamed Connor would be my first.
But we’d remained firmly “just friends” and he’d already lost his virginity. He was about to graduate and wouldn’t want to waste his time with high school girls like me. So, I settled.
Peter was nice and cute enough, so when he invited me to one of the bedrooms, I went. I wasn’t turned on. I didn’t know at the time arousal was a key element to enjoyable sex, so I wasn’t wet at all. I was nervous but determined to get it over with.
He was as nervous as me, maybe he was a virgin too. We shared a few closed mouth kisses before I took off my panties from beneath my sundress and laid prone on the strange bed. Shoes on and everything.
He stood there staring at me like this couldn’t possibly be happening. He met my eyes, and I smiled tightly, giving him whatever permission he was seeking because he undid his jeans and took himself out.
I looked away—which should’ve been a glaring red flag I wasn’t ready—while he fumbled a condom on. He knelt beside me on the bed, and I spread my legs so he could kneel between my thighs.
He asked me if I was okay. I said yes.
He asked if I was sure. I said yes.
He asked if I was ready. I could only nod my head.
I felt foreign pressure, but he couldn’t get in because I wasn’t wet. He lubricated himself with saliva and started pressing into me again. He met resistance and froze—I told him to just do it. So, he did.
How romantic, right?
He pushed into me, and I cried out in pain. He pulled out in a panic checking if I was okay. We both saw my virgin blood on his penis and that was all she wrote. We straightened our clothes, left the bedroom and I went home.
It was weird though. Monday after the party, Peter didn’t show up at school. There were rumors he’d been in an accident and was too hurt to finish the last week of school. I didn’t bother checking on him or sending him a “get-well-soon.” It would’ve been a hollow gesture.
Weirder was when I found out later that day Connor had been suspended and wouldn’t be walking at graduation. His parents took his phone, so I couldn’t check on him until he was off house arrest.
Later, he told me he got in a scuffle with some other senior boys and got blamed for it. It was a bizarre end to the school year.
I tried to have sex again after I graduated the following year.
I was dating a cute guy who I worked with at the market, Robby Thompson.
Things progressed much more naturally, and we escalated from days spent kissing in the storeroom, to groping over clothing, to touching under clothing in his car, to a mostly pain-free roll in the sheets while his parents were at work.
He disappeared for a week and his parents said he was in some sort of accident. He broke up with me over text and never came back to work at the market.
It was like I was cursed—any guy I touched ended up with some medical emergency and disappeared.
After Robby, I knew anything shy of being with Connor wasn’t enough. I’ve dated casually the last couple years, but I never allow it to get physical.
For years I’ve tortured myself watching women fawn over my best friend. I have no doubt he’s well versed in the bedroom. My stomach churns every time I think about it.
To satisfy my urges, I did copious internet research and tried out a couple of sex toys before I found my favorite one. My trusty purple rabbit was a consistent, complication-free lover.
All he needed was a thorough cleaning and new batteries every few weeks. He was a busy boy. Now he’s lost, never to be played with again.
Hours later, Connor returns from his awkward departure.
“Hi. Umm. You’re here. Of course you’re here. You live here.” Connor stumbles around the apartment because he’s looking everywhere but at me. His cheeks flush, growing embarrassed.
“Did you have a nice…outing?” I have no clue where he went, and I don’t want to know.
“Yep. Forgot I was supposed to visit my family today.” He slaps his forehead like duh.
His feet are still shoe-less, socks as clean as when he put them on this morning.
“You drove without shoes?” I know he’s fibbing.
“Quincy picked me up. Forgot she was giving me a ride.”
“Seems like you forgot a lot this morning.” I wish he’d forget the image of me in a towel, and that I’m the proud owner of a new sex toy.
He doesn’t answer, lips sealed shut. We don’t lie to each other, and he’s reached his limit for dishonesty. Instead he gives me a tight smile and occupies himself with his Xbox. It’s awkward and hurts my tummy, but it’s better than the alternative—conversation.
I lock myself in his bedroom, I mean, our bedroom, and unbox my new boyfriend. He’s a vibrant electric blue and has bumps and ridges my purple pal didn’t have. He’s also re-chargeable, so, no more dead batteries.
“Yes, you’ll do nicely,” I say to my new boyfriend, stroking his silky, silicone exterior. I conceal my new blue bestie in his silk drawstring bag and tuck him away at the back of my underwear drawer. Connor would never go digging around in my unmentionables.
It’ll stay my dirty little secret.