I ignored her; she'd been going through an 'I hate men' phase all summer. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was accept that what she said about Justin might have been true. He courted me thoroughly, writing me erotic poetry and sneaking up on me in the library, whispering filthy suggestions in my ear. "I'll never get over the fact that you flashed me on the dance floor," he said. "You - a sweet little virgin. Trying to seduce me."
Sometimes I told him to go fuck himself. Other times it ended with us in increasingly frantic clinches where he'd use his tongue and his fingers to great effect, but still refused to put his dick inside me. "Delayed gratification, cher," he said. "I want you grateful. I want you mine."
"I am yours. I am grateful," I'd say, as often as not on the verge of tears. All I wanted was to feel him inside me, but he kept on withholding.
"Nobody's touched you before," he would whisper. "You're going to be my creation, Amber. All mine. Everything you know how to do? It's going to be because I taught you how to do it, just the way I like it."
Justin did everything he could to keep me in a permanent state of lust. There were a whole set of instructions to this end - no underwear ever, a careful wet shave every day in the shower, since I apparently wasn't even allowed a natural coat of hair between him and the parts he so tenderly neglected. Masturbation was strictly forbidden, unless he was there to watch, although sometimes I flouted the rule only so that I could later confess and be 'punished' - which meant I'd have him inside me, even if it was only in my mouth.
Everglade snorted about the patriarchy at every opportunity, but I kind of liked that he forced his way into every aspect of my sex life, even the most private aspects. Knowing that I was following his instructions made me feel is presence, as if he was always there, holding me, his hand cupping me where I was bare and soft and ached for him.
Whenever he thought my attention was flagging he would send me pictures - either nude selfies or pornographic drawings of us together. He worked part time at a tattoo parlor on the beach, where he drew custom designs. The first time he took me there I was fascinated, like I was with everything else about him. He showed me the design he'd created for the Reaper tattoo on his back - "Based on the Rider-Waite tarot, baby," he said. "The most famous deck - designed by some chick who was part of Aleister Crowley's sex cult out in Sicily."
I think he expected me to turn squeamish at all the blood and needles, but my little henna tattoo hadn't hurt that much, so when he turned up one day with my name tattooed at the top of his spine, I just laughed.
"Are you crazy?" I said. I didn't say that we might break up - already I was too far gone for that.
"Maybe," he said, trying to stick the dressing back in place. I leaned forward and taped it back for him, over the bloody Gothic letters at his nape. "It's only five letters, cher. Six for you."
"Six?"
"Yeah. Amber is five letters, Justin is six."
I caught his meaning and stared at him. "You want me to get your name tattooed on my body?"
He didn't smile. "You want me to take your virginity. What's the difference?"
"A lot," I said. The word 'virginity' sounded ridiculous now - was I really a virgin after all the things we'd done? I didn't feel like one any more. "It's...permanent."
"And I'm not?" he said, crawling over me on the bed. I glanced at the door - Everglade wasn't due back for a while but I hadn't thought to put a sock on the door handle to indicate that we were busy.
"You know what I mean," I said, as his hands slid up my inner thighs and his fingers crept inside me.
"Nope," he said, against my lips. I could feel he was hard, just like he always was. Sometimes I wondered what he did when he left me unsatisfied on purpose; were there other girls he went to? I arched up against him, my flesh defenseless against the buttons of his jeans. I looked up into his eyes and his jaw was set firm - no chance that this was going to be it, the one time he finally relented.
"Please," I said. "Please. I'll do it if you'll fuck me."
He smiled. "Swear?"
"I swear," I said, my hips already stirring with need.
"On your mother's grave?"
"Yes," I said, deciding this was no time to tell him she'd been cremated. And then just like that he unbuttoned and stuck it in me, without ceremony or a condom.
"Oh," I said. I don't know what I'd expected - earthly bliss or something. Instead I was just anxious. This was everything they had told me not to do in health class. Our school had been pretty lousy in all other aspects of education but they'd briefed us extensively on safe sex. "Um...shouldn't you?..." I started to say.