Virgin (15 page)

“. . . So we just sat there chatting normally, as though he’d been out his entire life. Then I went home and had to listen to my mum going on about how glad she was to see Paul and I getting on so well.” I finally finished recounting last night’s escapades to Emma, who had been forced to sit through a one-hour phone call. “Now I’m a total mess and have no idea what to do.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s . . . that’s pretty big. God, this is way out of my expertise range, Ellie. Brazilians I can handle, but turning a guy gay? Can’t say I’ve done that yet.”

“I didn’t turn him!” I wailed, then finished lamely, “He promised me I didn’t.”

“I know—sorry, babe. That came out wrong. Obviously you didn’t turn him, per se, you just, um, helped him. You know what? Fuck it. You’re a modern cosmopolitan woman who snogged a twenty-four-year-old virgin and helped him figure out he was gay. You’re every man’s dream.”

“Ha, I don’t think so,” I snorted. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“A fucking
feminist
mess.”

“Really?” I asked doubtfully. “Is it feminist to try to use a guy to make you feel better about yourself, then realize he was using you to figure out if he was gay or not?”

“Probably,” she said. “Everything is feminist. You tried to use him, so that’s totally feminist.”

“He used me too,” I reminded her.

“Exactly! Feminism is just men and women being equal. So you, a woman, used him, and he, a man, used you too. This is feminism and I should be writing my dissertation on this instead of Charles Dickens,” she said triumphantly.

“Please don’t mention dissertations,” I groaned. “Thank God we did our biggest exams last year and only really have to do our dissertation this year, because I have barely opened a book.”

“Me too. Why don’t we meet up in the library and force ourselves to work? Then we can have consolatory coffee breaks,” she suggested.

“Done. I’m going back to Camden soon anyway,” I said. “I’m getting nothing done at home, and I cannot face my mum asking me about Paul. If I say it’s so I can be near the library, she’ll be ecstatic.”

“Yeah, come back. I’m getting bored of just hanging out with my housemates . . . Oooh, wait, does this sudden desire to have your own place again mean you want to be able to entertain guests without any parents around?” she teased.

I sighed dramatically. “It would, but Jack still hasn’t replied to me. I feel so shitty about it. I think that’s partly why I kissed Paul—I felt like Jack was rejecting me post-dry-humping.”

“Hmm, when did you last speak to him?” she asked.

“He texted me straight after the DH to say he had a good time, then we made weekend plans but he canceled. Also he asked me to email him my column entry for the UCL magazine because he said he wanted to read it. So I did, but then he never replied to that either.”

“Babe, he will. He’s probably just thinking what to say. It’s not a casual text situation—he needs to read the column and then think of something amazing to say to convince you to give him your V-card.”

“Meh, I guess . . . Anyway, Em, my phone’s beeping at me so I’d better go. If you need me I’ll be drowning myself in self-pity somewhere.”

“Okay, don’t overdo it. Let me know when Jack messages. Ciao!”

I hung up and collapsed onto my bed. Why didn’t Jack want to see me? Had I done something wrong? Telling Emma the facts was depressing—it made me realize how long it had been since I had heard from him. I felt so rejected and alone. Then I remembered my phone had beeped—maybe it was from Jack? I felt a wave of hope wash over me and grabbed the phone. It was a new email.

Subject: You are not alone.

Oh my fucking God. I bolted upright and stared at the ceiling. Was it . . . Jack? Or Lara? I looked down eagerly to see the sender and felt the smile plummet from my face as I saw the email address it had come from: [email protected]. Typical. The only people who wanted to save me from eternal solitude were religious matchmakers.

I was about to exit my emails in resignation when I noticed a second unopened email. It was from [email protected]. I let out a bark of surprise and my fingers raced to open it.

Ellie—sorry it took me so long to reply. Was too intimidated by your superior writing skills to message you in case you’d already realized you’re so much more talented than me.

But, if you aren’t too busy writing witty columns, then please can we go out this Saturday evening? Really want to see you—sorry for canceling last weekend. Obviously would have had way more fun with you than at Aunt Gwen’s 60th.

On a more boring note, I’ve attached my latest short story if you want to read it. And, if you do want some feedback on your piece, I’ve attached a copy of it with my shitty comments that you should definitely ignore . . . Hope you’re enjoying your newfound columnist fame. xx

I squealed out loud. He had actually bothered to read my column and attach constructive criticism—he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t like me. And he had sent me his writing too, so he clearly cared about my opinions. I grinned and collapsed onto my bed happily. He wasn’t just a dry-hump-’em and leave-’em kind of guy. This was actually happening—I was dating a guy who liked my writing and wanted to see me this weekend. Oh shit, that meant I only had three days before I lost my V-plates.

Ellie’s To-Do List:

1. Tweeze out the stray hairs that have grown back on vagina since the big wax.
   
2. Watch porn to figure out how to give the perfect BJ—and also a hand job. But is that too soft for pornos to focus on?
   
3. Figure out if pornos do hand job clips.
   
4. Apply for more internships. (The first twenty might still reply, Ellie. Stay hopeful.)
   
5. Do dissertation instead of just taking relevant books out of the library.
   
6. Mentally prepare for losing V-card on Saturday.
   
7. Have some quality “me time” with my brand-new bullet . . .
   

Bullet and I spent an hour together and I came three times in a row. I was officially a serial climaxer. It had taken me a few minutes to figure out how it worked, but the whole thing basically just vibrated when you pressed the button, and you rubbed it over the clitoris. I realized that the best thing for me was to start off by rubbing it gently, with the thick side of it, then go faster and just use the tip. I brushed the tip over the clit really quickly and then the familiar feeling of releasing the built-up tension unleashed over me and I literally
quivered
with joy.

It was amazing. There was only one tiny, very mini little incident when I got a bit bored and tried to mix things up a bit.

I decided to slip the bullet straight into my vagina for some penetration action. It felt nice, and definitely different, until I pushed it in as far as it would go and it slipped in behind the contracting/valve bit where tampons go. Only, unlike a tampon, the bullet didn’t have a string hanging off it to pull it back to safety. Which meant it was vibrating deep inside me, and I COULDN’T GET IT OUT! I panicked until I had a brain wave to squat on the floor, and it slipped out of me. I had never felt relief like that before.

The whole experience was so overwhelming that I put the bullet away in a drawer and spent the next few days focusing on slave narratives. I still hadn’t moved away from my Surrey home and was spending each day reading articles in online journals and poring over my American Literature anthology. I figured if I got a start on my dissertation, the ball of guilt in my gut would slowly ebb away, and I could spend the weekend with Jack. I was planning on moving back to my little room in central London on Friday and losing my virginity at some point during the weekend. I’d marked my date with Jack on my calendar by drawing a mini
V
across the Saturday and Sunday boxes.

The only distractions to my dissertation were the constant visits into my bedroom from my mother. She was asking me daily about Paul—if I’d heard any more from him, when I was next seeing him, etc. I could hardly tell her he’d kissed her only daughter just to double check that he wanted to bone men.

Actually, he had been messaging me, but not in the context my mum thought. He sent me pictures of his latest animations, and I sent him mine and Emma’s latest vlogs. He was surprisingly easy to talk to and we had made plans to hang out. My most recent snog was on his way to becoming my first gay best friend.

Touched for the Very First Time

I’m sure it was all good for Madonna being touched like a virgin for the first time, but what about when you’re a virgin touching yourself for the first time? Because most girls out there were touching their vaginas way before they ever let a boy down there—or even knew that what they were doing had a name.

Which it does. Masturbation. Mmmm. The word alone makes us close our eyes in a warm blur of memory while our clits start throbbing in anticipation. It is the most precious gift Mama Nature gave us and something every woman should explore.

Not that Greek Orthodox mums see it like that. And EK should know because she grew up being told “touching yourself down there is bad.” Result? She inevitably got a complex and felt waves of guilt every time her hand naturally rubbed itself against her prepubescent vagina from the age of seven onwards. Okay, probably from the age of five if she’s being totally honest.

Masturbatory guilt is just another issue our darling parents can pass down to us, ensuring maximum angst and minimum self-belief. Telling a vulnerable young person that they can’t do what feels natural is pure dictatorship and we reckon it probably goes against the European Convention of Human Rights. Exploring your own body is always healthy—no matter how much anyone tells you it’s “dirty,” “wrong” or even a “sin.”

We’re sure that Jesus/whoever didn’t actually say masturbation was bad, so anyone who interprets it like that is plain wrong. It’s healthy and if boys discuss wanking all the time, girls should too. EK has finally let go of her mum’s bullshit and has even invested in a sex toy (the beginner’s vibrator, aka a bullet). Her only advice? Don’t stick it into your vagina. Not up the hole. Just . . . don’t.

On Friday I unpacked the last of my bags and collapsed happily onto my bed. I always forgot how much I loved living alone until I spent a few days with my mum. I normally got the bus to Lara’s house the second I got back to Guildford, but obviously that hadn’t been an option this Easter.

I missed Lara. It had been weeks since our fight, and we’d never been out of touch for so long. The more time that passed, the weirder it got, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the silence. Whatever. Today was the day before my big date with Jack and I had a lot to prepare for. Especially as my period had just arrived, so the V on my calendar was going to have to move back a week.

Positive note? My knickers wouldn’t be coming off so I wouldn’t have to tweeze the waxed VJ.

Negative note? If any sexual action was going to happen, it was going to have to be the dreaded second and third bases—which meant I had to learn the BJ and HJ techniques. Today.

I sat on my bed with a notebook and pen. I was going to take this very seriously and I would succeed in overcoming my BJ fears. I started looking for porn sites. I had no idea where to start—the last thing I wanted to do was find low-quality trash that would give my computer a virus. My mother would kill me if I got a virus on my laptop, let alone a porn-induced one.

I vaguely remembered one of the boys in my halls talking about RedTube, which was like YouTube but dirty. If it was mainstream and well known, hopefully it wouldn’t rot my laptop’s hard drive.

There were dozens of categories and I had no idea where to start. I picked up M&M’s from a packet next to me and chewed as I scrolled down. Eventually I decided on “college girls.” It was better than the “underage” stuff and didn’t seem as hard-core as “threesomes.” Besides, I was a college girl so I could probably relate to them.

The first video showed a girl in a Britney Spears–esque school uniform. She was wearing knee-high socks with a gray skirt that was so short she definitely would have gotten detention in my school. The striking ensemble was paired with a white shirt tied just under her bra. She looked like every middle-aged pervert’s dream. The video started with her flirting with her math teacher, who had asked her to stay behind to look at her grades. She twirled her hair around her fingers against a backdrop of music that sounded like the
Austin Powers
theme on crack.

So far this was verging on the “underage girls” category, and I was far from impressed. Then, out of nowhere, she was on her knees and undoing the teacher’s trousers. I looked up eagerly—on my first video I had hit the jackpot and she was about to give the math teacher exactly what I wanted to give Jack.

I grabbed my pen and held it above the pad, poised to translate any of Britney’s tricks onto paper for my future reference. She pulled his trousers down and suddenly his penis was staring straight out at me from the screen. I had seen few penises in real life, but this one was incredibly large. The fact that it was fully shaved just emphasized how big it was. Britney didn’t seem fazed; she just giggled in delight—that was
not
going on my tips sheet because she looked ridiculous—and immediately put the whole thing in her mouth. Teacher groaned in delight and she started licking the tip of it.

I wrote down:
1) Lick it like an ice pop
and then looked up, waiting for more pearls of wisdom.

She started putting the whole thing in her mouth and moving her head up and down. I groaned in frustration. This was the main bit of a BJ—the moving up and down thing—but I couldn’t see what she was doing
inside
her mouth. I was doomed to eternal failure. Any idiot could move their head up and down with a penis inside their mouth, but it was only an experienced head-giver who knew what to do with their mouth. Did I curl my lips over my teeth to stop any collateral damage? And what the hell was the tongue doing inside?

These were the crucial questions I wanted the answers to, but damned Britney was just sucking his cock with no explanation whatsoever. When the camera did a close-up of her, I tried to see what she was doing with her lips, but it was useless. Then she went faster and faster and the teacher put his hands on her head to force her to go deeper, which looked very unfeminist and I totally couldn’t imagine Jack doing it.

Eventually his groans got louder and he came into her mouth. Dribbles of white goo trickled out of the corners of her mouth but she licked them up as though it was a melted Milky Way Bar and looked up at him sexily as she swallowed. Then—and this bit made me gag a bit—she licked the tip of his cock to clean up any last drops. I closed the video in disgust and tried another one, hoping it would be more illuminating.

The next one showed a blond girl at a garage, with two old builders. She had huge tits, and it was boringly predictable. There was barely any plot, and within seconds, they were both shagging her
at the same time.
The cameraman—it had to be a man because no woman would ever focus on this—zoomed in on the penises going in and out of both her nether orifices.

I averted my eyes from the screen, a sour taste in my mouth. I shoved the M&M’s away, watching out of the corner of my eye. This was definitely hard-core and their groans and moans were just as graphic.

Thank God I lived alone, because these noises would be enough to scare any flatmate. I fiddled with the laptop to turn the volume down, but it was complicated because I didn’t have any volume keys anymore. I had put my hair straightener on the keyboard whilst taming my hair and it had melted the plastic keys. Instead of sleek black plastic volume keys, I now had to make do with the white gel button underneath the keypad. I was trying to shove my fat fingers into the space to turn the volume down when there was a banging on the door.

Ohmigod. A neighbor had heard it and wanted to tell me to turn it off. I slammed the lid of my laptop closed but the sounds carried on for the longest five seconds of my life. When they stopped, I crept over to the door and opened it slightly. I peered through the small crack and saw a familiar-looking mop of greasy brown hair.

“Paul?” I asked in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Um . . . we were meant to meet at two but you’re not answering your phone so I figured I’d come over instead,” he explained.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I cried as my hand flew to my mouth. “I totally forgot, I was so engrossed in my, um, dissertation.” I flushed and then paused. “Hang on—how do you know where I live?”

“Your mum told me.” He grinned.

Of course she bloody did. “Typical,” I said, as I gestured for him to come in out of the hallway. “Now she’s going to think we’ve fallen for each other and every Greek in Surrey is going to know about it.”

“Perfect cover for me,” he said as he sat on my bed. He was wearing a dirty black hoody and ill-fitting jeans with his awful trainers. If he was going to be my GBF we were really going to have to work on his fashion sense.

“So,” he said nonchalantly, “alone, are you?”

“Um, yes?” I replied, gesturing at my very empty room.

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “It’s just, I thought maybe you were with someone?”

I blushed furiously and tried to convince myself that the wooden door he’d been standing outside was thick enough to block out the porn sounds from earlier. “Nope, I’m alone. I was just, um, watching a film,” I explained.

He nodded as he looked around the room. “What was it,
Hot and Steamy in a Sauna
?”

I stared at him in horror. “What are you talking about?” I asked in a strained voice. “I was just watching a film for my dissertation. A literary adaptation.”

His face was deadpan but his eyes flickered as he nodded mutely. “Of course.
The Cunt of Monte Cristo
?”

My mouth dropped wide open and when I caught his eye we burst out laughing. “Okay, fine, I was watching a porno,” I admitted. “It’s not a big deal so please don’t make it one.”

He grinned. “Sure. I mean, what twenty-one-year-old girl doesn’t watch porn alone on a Friday afternoon?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, okay, it’s not exactly the norm. But it was for a good reason.”

“Research?” he asked, and a look of understanding flashed between us. I nodded and he replied, “I’ve been there too, Ellie. But honestly, porn films are a waste of time. No guy wants a girl like that.”

I opened my mouth to try to say something along the lines of “How would you know?” but he beat me to it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I’m not a total freak. I do have guy friends who talk about this sort of stuff and I don’t think any of them want a porn star. I mean, sure, they get off on it and they’d love it for one night, but I think they’d be overwhelmed to have a girlfriend like that, and not overwhelmed in a good way. You know?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I reckon you’ve got a point. And I don’t really want to be the kind of girl who gazes at a guy in pure joy while she has his dick in her mouth and he grabs her head. I mean, I’d be way too preoccupied with concentrating on the mouth part to be able to smile at him too.”

Paul laughed. “Yeah, I kind of know how you feel,” he admitted. “I’m terrified to get out there and have to start figuring out stuff like that. At least you’ve known your whole life that you fancied men, but I’ve only just realized, and all of this is new to me.”

I looked at Paul with respect. Who knew he’d be so comfortable talking about sex—or the lack thereof—and be so honest with it? Jeez, he was almost as skilled as me when it came to self-deprecation, and that wasn’t something I came across every day. A vision of us lying on a sofa watching E! and bitching about celebs formed in my mind. Only, in the daydream, Paul had better clothes and my hymen was no longer intact.

“Anyway,” said Paul, pulling me out of my engrossing daydream, “who is this lucky guy you’re watching porn for?”

“Blaghh,” I groaned. “I don’t know where to start. He’s a graphic designer and he’s twenty-six and he likes me and I need—no, I
want
—to do stuff with him, but, um, I don’t really know
how
to do stuff . . .” I trailed off. I couldn’t explain why I was so nervous about third base without telling him the whole story. I squeezed my eyes shut and decided Paul had a right to know. I was, after all, the first person he had come out to and kissed. Both at the same time.

I took a deep breath and told him the James Martell saga in all its teethy glory. He didn’t even laugh or wince when I got to the biting bit. Or the “I can’t take your virginity” part. His expression barely changed and when I got to the end, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Shit. Well, good thing that was years ago and now you’re going to try again with a decent guy.”

“That’s all you can say?” I asked, my eyes wide. “It was the most traumatic moment of my life.”

“Try being bullied for being gay when you don’t even know if you are,” he retorted. Then his voice got softer and he carried on. “Seriously, Ellie, it was a disaster with this James guy because you didn’t really like him. He was just a nice guy who fancied you, but you weren’t comfortable with him so things didn’t work out. I think if you take things slower, and make sure you’re comfortable with this guy first, things will be better.”

I nodded, realizing Paul was more intelligent than his haircut suggested. I was sure I would feel comfortable with Jack, and if not, I could definitely make myself feel comfortable. Maybe there was a WikiHow on it.

We spent the rest of the morning hanging out on top of my bed. It was nice to spend time with a guy without freaking out about whether he fancied me. And Paul was a nice guy. At one point I even found myself wishing he were straight. The thought died when he told me that he had gone to a gay bar during the week, on his own, and he had met a guy. I was too impressed to say anything other than shriek in response.

He told me they had kissed and then swapped numbers. Now Vladi, the guy in question, wanted to meet up with Paul, but he was too embarrassed about his lack of sexual experience to agree. I nodded compassionately when he explained how embarrassed he was for Vladi to find out about his virginity.

“I’m also nervous about, uh, well, going down on him too,” he admitted. “Have you picked up any tips from the porn videos you can share?”