“I met this one chick at a concert,” Bo said, his nearness startling me. “We both ended up near the fence line making eyes at each other. After the concert was over, we were just standing there, like the whole event was prelude, right?”
“Right,” I said shortly, surprised he’d followed me into the dark room. His size swallowed up the space, and I felt like we were in junior high, about to make out in the closet. Only instead of kissing me, he was regaling me with a past conquest in graphic, profane detail. I hated this girl already. But then I had asked for this.
“I can’t even remember her name now,” Bo admitted. “Or quite what she looked like. We went back to her hotel room. She was sharing it with four other girls. I do remember the room. It looked like some mall had thrown up in there. There were clothes everywhere and only two beds. I guess it was two girls to a bed.
“We fell on that bed and started making out. She stopped me to tell me she’d never had an orgasm. So in my mind this was a challenge. I was going to give her the best damn orgasm ever, but I failed. She’s lying there, bored out of her mind. Maybe she was thinking of the last book she’d read, maybe she was counting sheep. I don’t know.
“She leaned over and asked me if I wanted anything, but I was dead from the waist down. Not only could I not get her off, but I couldn’t get it up. I pulled on my clothes and ran out of there like her dad was standing over us with a shotgun. Hell, I would have welcomed that.”
As Bo recounted this experience, he leaned against the far wall of the dark alcove, but there was very little space between us. I could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest as he spoke and breathed. The darkness and the small space lent an intimacy to the setting. But even in the dimness, with light from the other room outlining the doorway, I could sense his self-deprecation. He wasn’t at all concerned with how it may have made him appear or how humorous it sounded. He just did not care. I wanted to borrow his attitude and wear it like the fox in the weeds wore his coat, blending in with his surroundings and belonging.
“I haven’t told you the worst part,” Bo went on. “For a month afterward, my equipment didn’t work. Every time I felt like I was getting wood, I’d think of that room and that girl, and my dick would climb into my sack in shame.”
I choked back a giggle.
“No, it’s funny,” Bo encouraged. “No need to try to hold back your laughter.”
I started laughing, then, and couldn’t stop. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen. I thought I was doomed. I tried looking up porn and everything, but nothing worked. I thought I’d be the only under-eighteen patient to have to take Viagra.”
“What cured you?”
“The cure was even worse.”
“Oh no, you didn’t.” I placed my hand against my lips to hold in my laughter.
“I sure did. My father had a bottle of those beauties. I took one and chased it down with about a fifth of his Scotch. Had a beauty of a beating from that—the Scotch, not the blue pill,” Bo clarified. “He didn’t realize he was missing one of those.”
“What happened?” I managed to gasp out between the fits of laughter.
“So if you aren’t actually having problems downstairs, you end up getting a nonstop hard-on that you can’t get rid of. I rubbed as many out as I could, but then my dick became so sensitive I couldn’t touch it anymore. So I had a nonstop hard-on that was too painful to relieve. Eventually it wore off, but I thought I would never have sex again.”
“So the next day, then?”
“Ah, you’re getting to know me so well. Yes, the next day and then the next and the next. I was on a tear. Both jubilant that my dick actually worked and that I didn’t need pills, but also a mental reproof to the girl I couldn’t get off. How about you.”
“I’ve already shared,” I protested.
“What happened to you wasn’t an embarrassment to anyone but the dickheads who assaulted you and then tried to boost their egos with lies,” Bo said fiercely. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
His words choked me up a little and for a moment I couldn’t speak. Maybe when he told me we were on the same team that first day in biology class he meant it. His verbal support felt so good.
“There’s a whole block of restaurants and stores that I can’t shop at anymore,” I confessed. When he made a protesting sound, I barreled on. “I met Mark at a bar with my roommate. He was really good-looking, but kind of dumb. But he seemed like he knew what he was about.”