“It’s just a lot to deal with all of a sudden. I have thought about this day for so long, I thought I was so prepared but the truth is I really don’t know who I am, I don’t know who I want to be. And then when I even think about dating, I just want to throw up,” I admitted as I drained the contents of my glass.
“Let’s move this conversation to the kitchen so we can get a refill,” Evie interjected.
I followed behind her continuing my whining, “First, I get around boys and it’s like I lose the ability to speak intelligently. My mouth dries up like the Sahara desert, my brain freezes, and my stomach twists and turns like it’s warming up for the uneven bars at the Olympics.”
“You act like you’ve never been around a boy before, Sam. Come on, you’ve kissed a couple of guys. Shit, you’ve even kissed a girl! And you’ve read enough sex scenes in our books that you know what’s supposed to happen. Hell, you probably know more about how it’s supposed to go than most girls our age who just blindly and drunkenly stumble through the act.”
She was right- I had read more than my share hot and steamy exchanges between fictional characters. Evie and I were obsessive readers and over ninety percent of the books we read were romance novels. Heart-breaking and gut-wrenching, sweet and sentimental, sexy and sensual… we loved them all. Reading was the one thing that Evie and I could experience together for the past couple of years since I wasn’t allowed to do anything outside of my house without adult supervision. It was almost like we lived a second life with our book characters, talking about them as if they actually existed and integrating their sayings into our everyday conversation. It was quite ridiculous to be honest.
“Yes, I’ve kissed a couple of guys before, Evie, like two, and both times were at church camp and were one time occurrences. And you kissing me so I wouldn’t be nervous about my first kiss hardly counts for anything,” I argued. “To think I’m experienced in any way sexually is truly laughable, most twelve and thirteen year olds have done more than I have. Reading about something and actually doing it is quite different, especially when you are talking about sex. Oh, and I thought we were going to lose the nickname when we moved here.”
“I’m never dropping the nickname so get that thought out of your pretty little head,” she said as she tapped her finger on my forehead. “And I take great offense that kissing me ‘hardly counts for anything.’ Do you know how many people would love to have my tongue in their mouth?” She moved her hand to her chest and crinkled up her face, acting as if she was going to cry. I rolled my eyes in response.
We both hopped up on the kitchen counter and I continued to ramble on about my fears and worries when it came to entering the world of dating.
“I don’t even know what kind of guy is my type. I don’t know who is out of my league and who isn’t. I don’t know if I should let a guy approach me or if I should approach him… there are just all these questions… I feel so silly.”
“Okay, let’s get one thing straight ~ NO guy is out of your league!” she said sternly looking directly into my eyes. “I never want to hear you say something like that again. You seriously have no idea what an amazing catch you are for any guy. I swear, your parents really did a number on your self-esteem. Guys look at you all the time, you just never notice because you are too afraid they will catch you making eye contact with one and then you’ll, I don’t know, end up pregnant or something.” She continued, “As for what your type is, surely you have some idea what you are looking for. I mean we have only read hundreds of books that pretty much cover every category of guy that exists. Think about all of our favorite book boyfriends…”
“That’s just the thing, I love so many of our book boyfriends, ALL of them actually,” I giggled as the wine was definitely starting to have some effect on me. “Sometimes I think I’d like the All-American, college frat boy image, maybe even one with a bit of a wild side. But then I think about our beloved tattooed bad boy rockers and…” I could feel my face get warm as I began thinking about actually getting to touch any one of my beloved book boyfriends.
“You really do have a kinky freak living inside there, don’t you?” Evie joked, tearing me from my fantasy. “I’m kind of afraid of what’s going to happen once you get a real taste of the passion that you read about so often. If those books get your panties all wet, what’s going to happen when an actual hottie get his hands on you?”
“I’m not sure… I may spontaneously combust or my panties may just disintegrate right off my body,” I laughed. “But don’t act like I’m the only one that fantasizes about our book boyfriends. I clearly remember just last week a certain someone texting me in the wee hours of the morning because she had just had a wet dream about… who was it that time… I can’t remember someone that you called ‘Daddy’ in bed or some shit.”
“Shut the fuck up.” She joked. “We really are little book whores, aren’t we? Not just in the number of books that we read, but in how many of the guys we are in love with, the things that we dream about doing with them…”
“Yeah, how sad is that? If it wasn’t for that vibrator you bought me last year, I would probably have carpal tunnel by this point,” I admitted. I must be the most sexually frustrated virgin on the planet. My virtue was still intact only because my parents didn’t let me out of their sight long enough to even meet anyone, much less like someone enough to want to have sex with them. I wasn’t interested in just handing it out on a silver platter in a bathroom stall at one of my music or dance recitals or better yet, at church camp. I was pretty sure the man upstairs wouldn’t approve of the fact that I was using him as an excuse to escape my parents and whore myself out. I felt bad enough that it was the only place I had ever kissed a guy. I had felt so guilty then that I had almost expected to be struck by lightning or something, but I made it through the rest of the week unscathed.
“You’re telling me! It’s been over three months since I stopped seeing Garrett. All the extra free time has allowed me to read myself into sexual frenzy as well,” she complained. “We really need to get out and have some fun. I can’t wait to corrupt you… and it all begins tomorrow.” She jumped off the counter and put her glass in the sink.
“I don’t think I’m going to need your help in corrupting, I’ve been looking forward to this way too long. I may need help in controlling my hormones once they’re released from their cage.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Now back to these different categories of book boyfriends. We need to make sure we consider all potential candidates. We forgot to mention the hot professors looking for reasons to tutor us in private, or the famous musicians that are going to mysteriously pop into our lives and beg us to go on tour with them because we are their muse. Ooh, better yet, maybe we can snag us an ultimate,” I said, trying my best to sound serious .
“An ultimate?” Evie asked, laughing at my categorization.
“Yeah, the ultimates… you know, the devastatingly handsome, possessive billionaire moguls that can’t live without us and are dying to shower us with wealth and satisfy our deep, dark sexual desires,” I explained.
“Okay, I lied. Even though I said there’s no guy out of your league, I’m not sure we are quite ready for ‘the ultimates.’ Cheese and rice, Scarlett, you go from telling me you are scared to talk to a college boy to telling me you want to find an older man that’s into bondage and whips I’m not sure if there’s a local Billionaire BDSM club that we can just waltz in and make our selection,” she joked.
I started laughing uncontrollably at her last comment as I envisioned the two of us walking up to an office building trying to find our version of an ultimate. She was right, I needed to take baby steps before I found myself blindfolded and restrained to a cross on a wall trying to remember my safe word, anticipating the crack of a whip across my skin.
“But Ana was a virgin…” I tried to argue, but couldn’t even get the thought out without cracking up all over again. We both laughed until tears streamed down our faces. Finally after several minutes, we regained our composure.
“This is what we are going to do. Tomorrow we are going to recreate your image with a new hairstyle, a little bit of makeup, and new clothes ~ going to get you all sexified. Then tomorrow night we are going to go with my cousin to that party by her school. But before we go, we are going to pick one of the categories of our book boyfriends and our goal for the evening is to find our version of that BB. Each subsequent night we go out together, we will choose a different category until we find exactly what your type is. Shit, it might even help me because I’m quickly finding out what I thought my type was, is actually quite similar to the description of a douchebag,” she explained.
“Okay, I like the sound of this. But once we find our version of the BB, then what do we do?”