“I’m going to a movie, a foreign film. I kind of need to see the subtitles,” she replied, sounding annoyed.
Only she would actually want to watch this film. I guaranteed Eric had other ideas. I was one hundred percent positive he wasn’t gay. I checked around first. Still nerdy but attractive and seemed nice. Haven needed nice. I didn’t want her first time to be like mine. She didn’t love this guy, but that was okay. I was sure he wasn’t going to be a jerk-off as Joey had been. As long as he treated her with respect and kindness, I’d be happy for her. One of us should experience the bells and flowers.
I wasn’t staying in tonight. My favorite words besides I love cock? Frat party. Nothing better than horny and hot intoxicated men. They would always be at my mercy. Maybe I was slightly loose with my wares. But I was young and single, so I planned to enjoy myself.
I was always prepared. God knows you couldn’t count on a man to be responsible. Once you were going down on them, they got sloppy. I, unlike them, cared about my health. The thought of disease or pregnancy made me shudder. Years ago, when my parents told me the facts, it should have been enough to dissuade me. But at sixteen, I had tasted the fruit and I planned to savor the hundreds of varieties. Well, maybe not hundreds, but I thoroughly wanted to sample many. Now that I’d been introduced to actual sex, aka intercourse, I felt like I had more to offer.
There were a few that wanted to date me, be with me in a relationship, and fuck me. I chose the latter. I didn’t need to be wined and dined. I had money and means. The men I chose didn’t have to prove themselves monetarily. I would never do a relationship; I lived by my own rules. Men regarded any repeat performance as thumbs-up for commitment. Ugh! That would never happen. I’d seen what it had done to other girls. The men thought they owned you and wanted full dominance. I enjoyed being on top—figuratively.
I hadn’t had enough sexual experience yet to master diversity. I think most of my friends called it “vanilla” sex. In one of my books, they called it missionary. I was looking forward to the variety of positions listed in the Kama Sutra.
Haven never came home that night. I crept into our small apartment about four thirty and she wasn’t in her bed. She’d spent the night with Eric. Wow. This was monumental. Maybe I should’ve hung a banner or bought a cake. Depending on which way it went. Ice cream, maybe a gallon just in case. There was no pain in the world that a bowl of icy, creamy goodness couldn’t fix. It had been months since I gave it up to Joey dickhead, and now my bestie was following in my footsteps. Well, at least I hoped she was.
They say opposites attract. I guess that’s why Haven and I bonded. While I was a business major, she studied journalism. While I sucked actual cock, she read smutty romance books about sucking cock. Eventually, I wanted to move to Malibu or Beverly Hills and maybe do real estate. I didn’t have to work. My inheritance would kick in at twenty-one. But I didn’t enjoy being idle, so regardless, I wanted to work and get experience under my belt, to have my own business eventually.
I could have lived off campus. I had viewed some nice condominiums. But Haven had made it clear she couldn’t afford anything that extravagant. She didn’t want to keep me from living more upscale, and she’d opted to find a new dorm mate. While the fifteen hundred square-foot plush condo had been calling my name, I settled on our tiny apartment on campus. It was what she could afford, and I had no problem sacrificing luxury, because I couldn’t imagine sharing my adventures with anyone else. She and I meshed. We disagreed on quite a few things, but somehow we worked.
Haven finally came home at ten in the morning. It was a good thing it was the weekend because she looked “rode hard and put up wet.”
“Please do not say a word,” she said with her head slumped.
Seriously, there was no way I couldn’t say anything. “Is this your version of the walk of shame, or is it the drive of distress?” I said as I strolled into the kitchen to make some breakfast. “Want a waffle or a greasy egg sandwich?” I snorted because I could tell she was hung over. There was no chance in hell Eric pried her legs apart without the assistance of alcohol.
She waved her hands in front of her face and then covered her mouth. “Jesus, I asked you not to speak. And if you start talking about food, there will be more than bloodstains on this carpet,” she whispered as a burp slipped out of her mouth.
I bit back a chuckle. My BFF was a hung-over ex-virgin. She’d never had sex and she hardly ever drank. After three campus parties where she ended up praying to the porcelain god all night, now she was strictly a wine girl. I couldn’t wait to hear about last night with Eric. The suspense was killing me.
“Okay, sweetie, you go take a nap, and when you get up, I’ll trade you some ginger ale for a blow-by-blow of last night’s event,” I quipped.
“Ha-ha, there was no puff chore-ing last night,” she said as she headed toward her bedroom.
“Tell me you were defiled and Eric was a Viking in bed.”
“Kill me now.” She sighed under her breath as she closed her door.
I looked forward to the afternoon where I got to hear all the juicy details. She’d better have gotten laid. If spending the night with Eric was just a sleepover, Haven and I were going to have a serious talk. Somehow, I was going to modify this girl’s behavior. Okay, so it would be more along the lines of corruption. What are friends for?
When she woke up, we did have a sit-down. It was more of me sitting down and her pacing. Yes, she had sex. Sound the trumpets. Cue the parade. But she appeared less than thrilled. Eric had wanted to do it bareback, and even though Haven had been on the pill since fifteen due to female problems, she’d said no. A fight proceeded, then the customary make-up sex. She’d not confessed to him he was her first. I think her disappointment had been major. She never spoke about the specifics, but I sensed her disillusionment. I blamed those romance books for her high expectations. I tried to tell her once. Those stories were written by women. Female authors who hadn’t been laid since the dawn of time. It was all wishful thinking.
Right before I turned twenty, all hell broke loose. Frankly, it would have been nice to just skip that age altogether. That fucking year would be life altering. It would end up taking a toll on my spirit and feelings. I had total control over my body, but my emotions—that was another thing. One spring day, I noticed people weren’t talking to me. They were whispering a lot. I was being shunned. Oh my God, we were in California, not Pennsylvania. I had no idea what the hell was going on.
Haven found me that afternoon.
“Weezie, Jesus, have you heard?” she exclaimed as she dragged me into the restroom.
“Um, that would be negative since no one is talking to me. It’s the weirdest fucking thing. Did you watch that documentary last night on the Amish? It’s like that. Those fuckers are shunning me.”
Haven stalled at the sink. She was washing her hands over and over.
“Out with it. You know something. Spill.”
“Joey Miles.”
I hadn’t really talked about Joey or seen him in seven months. We weren’t even on each other’s radar. How could all this silence be because of him? “Okay, what did you hear?”
“I’m not comfortable telling you this. It would hurt me so bad, and I don’t want to be the one to cause you pain.”
“Haven, spit it out. No one else is speaking to me. It’s like high school all over again. Just tell me.”
Haven tilted her head toward mine. “He got something. I’m not sure. Everyone’s saying something different; you know how rumors spread. I think he has some kind of venereal disease.”