Richard pulled me close to his face. His lips tickled as he whispered into my ear. "I have a graduation present for you."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked. "What is it?"
"A surprise. Come with me."
He led me by the hand through the throngs of our drunken classmates, all celebrating the fact that they had survived thirteen rigorous years at our exclusive private school. As Richard pulled me toward the front door I bumped into Tiffany. She accidentally sloshed a little beer on the new dress my stepfather had bought me to wear under my graduation gown, so I was already feeling a little frazzled when Richard and I got into his car.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"My little Zoe, always the impatient one," he teased. "You'll just have to wait and see."
He placed his hand on my thigh as he drove through town. It was late and most of the businesses had closed for the night, their windows dark. When Richard turned onto the main highway I was overcome by sudden anticipation that we might be escaping our town altogether. Maybe Richard was taking me out for a special night in the next city.
Then my romantic boyfriend turned off at the Kozy Kumfort.
"The motel?" I asked incredulously.
"Yep. Wait till you see Room Eleven."
I reluctantly got out of the car as Richard fumbled with the motel key. Once the door was open he flipped on the light, and my heart sank. The room was revolting. It smelled like cigarette smoke and stale urine. A ratty bed filled three-quarters of the floor space.
I glanced up at the only decoration on the wall, a huge painting of a smiling clown, complete with face paint and red nose.
"A creepy clown is not watching me lose my virginity," I muttered.
Richard grumbled as he stepped onto the bed and tried to remove the clown painting. It was bolted to the wall and wouldn't budge. The motel manager might not have put much stock in cleanliness, but he was well prepared to ward off art thieves.
Richard gave up and flopped onto the bed. He pulled me toward him. I placed my clutch on the bed and sat on one corner, trying to touch as little of the stained, scratchy fabric as possible.
"Quit being such a buzzkill," he said. "You're really ruining the mood."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just nervous. Plus, I never thought my first time would be like … like this."
Richard and I had been dating for a few months. Mostly we had just kissed while he touched my breasts, although I let him finger me once. His dry fingers hurt my clit, and I made him stop almost immediately.
But now, after graduation, I really did not want to be the "buzzkill" who ruined our special night together. We were going to separate colleges in the fall and if our relationship was going to survive, we had to lay the foundation this summer.
///
I leaned in to Richard, and we kissed. He awkwardly groped at my chest. The more he focused on my tiny breasts, the less he remembered to kiss me. Before long his inert tongue was stuck in my mouth, unmoving, like a dead hunk of meat. I gagged on his tongue and pulled away to catch my breath.
"What the hell?" Richard complained.
"This is all wrong," I said. "I want you, Richard, but this place is just nasty. I'm afraid to take my clothes off. Who knows what all those stains are from."
Richard glared at me.
"You're a bitch," he said.
"Excuse me?" I asked, stunned.
"You're a mean little bitch."
"Well," I replied, "you're a jerk."
This really set Richard off. He started yelling. Angry, hurtful words just kept pouring out of his mouth.
"I don't even know why I go out with you," he said with disdain. "You should be begging me to pop your cherry. I mean, look at you. Skinny little daddy's girl. No tits, no ass. Your face is disgusting. Good luck finding anybody else to date your ugly ass."
He said a lot more, every word more furious than the last. I wish I could tell you I gave it right back to him, but the truth is I was left speechless. I was so shocked by his outburst, I couldn't even respond. Instead, my body rocked and I cried softly, absorbing his anger.
"Fuck your tears," Richard said.
Without warning, he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me from the bed, dragging me out the motel room door and locking me outside. I was so taken aback, I just stood there for a moment, catching my breath and trying not to cry even harder. The motel was two stories tall, but our room was on the ground level. Beyond the parking lot, traffic roared down the freeway. A broken lamp light flickered.
I reached for my phone and remembered it was still in the room, in my clutch.
"Richard," I called through the window.
"Go away," he said.
"At least give me my clutch."
"What clutch."
"The purse."
I heard rustling inside. The door was flung open and I saw my clutch whirling over my head. Richard had thrown it onto the parking lot, and it landed in a slick puddle of motor oil. Because I hadn't clasped it, the phone had come loose and hit the asphalt, to a sharp sound of breaking glass. The screen was cracked. Thankfully, the phone still worked.
Of course, I called my Daddy, and of course he promised to come get me. Waiting for him to arrive, I heard a car engine start, and I turned just in time to watch Richard peeling out of his parking spot. He never even turned to look at me as he raced away from the motel, onto the freeway. I was so angry with him. I never wanted to see him again. At the same time, it hurt to watch him speed away from me. I felt abandoned, rejected, until I saw Daddy's headlights turn into the parking lot, and I forgot about everything else.
II.
I hurried to greet my stepfather, although I couldn't run very fast in my short dress and stilettos. He immediately parked and jumped from the car, catching me in his arms.
"What's going on? Are you hurt?" he asked in a huff.
"No, no," I assured. "Nothing like that."
"You've been crying," he said, keenly focused on my face. He wiped a tear from my cheek.
"It's just been a long night," I assured him.
Despite my assurances, Daddy knew something was wrong. With his impossibly broad shoulders he held me in his strong arms, and I took comfort in his warm embrace. I could feel the tight muscles of his arms and chest through his expensive suit jacket, and his touch filled me with feelings of warmth and security, the way I have always felt in Daddy's arms.
He gently guided me to his car and opened the passenger side door for me. Richard had never opened a door for me in three months of dating. The memory of Richard clouded my thoughts.
"Daddy," I asked, once he was driving us back home. "Am I ugly?"
"Are you kidding?" he said. "Why would you ask that?"
"I thought I was ready to, you know … "
I tried to tell my stepfather what I was doing at the motel, but I did a horrible job of it. Feeling shy and reluctant, I couldn't bring myself to talk about sex with the man who raised me. "It's just that I've never, you know … and I thought tonight might be my first time. Then everything turned really bad and weird, and I wasn't so sure anymore. Richard was furious with me."
"Richard? That punk. If he lay a single finger on you … "
///
"No, Daddy, he didn't. He just said some really mean things. I know my body isn't all that curvy yet, but am I really as hideous as he says?"
All of a sudden my stepfather slammed on the brakes, his car skidding to a stop on the side of the road. He turned and looked at me intently, staring into my eyes with an ardent look that melted my insides a little.
"Zoe," he said slowly, searching for the right words. "I never told you this, because it's difficult to talk about. Seventeen years ago, when I met your mother for the first time, I thought she was the most lovely, most beautiful thing I had ever seen. From the moment I laid eyes on her, there was no one else for me, and I knew I would stop at nothing to make her mine. But she resisted. For weeks she ignored my advances, which only made me want her even more.
"She was a young mother totally focused on raising her baby, not going on dates with eligible bachelors. I am so glad she changed her mind," Daddy continued. "Every time I look at you, your eyes, your long hair, I can't help but see your mother. You have the same cute laugh. Sometimes when I see you from a distance, I get mixed up and think she's coming back to me. Believe it or not, for the first few years of marriage, your mother was just as petite as you are now."