Losing Virginity (14 page)

He
didn't say a thing, until he drove up to the parking lot in front of the bar. I
looked at him.

“Well,
that is pretty awkward for a girl to go through. Boys are real dicks at that
age. I should know. I was one... Now I look back and wish I didn’t do that
shit.”

"Don't
worry, I got them back good."

I
smiled and started to get out of the car but he didn’t let go of my hand,
pulling me back to the seat. "You have to tell me what you
did,
the curiosity would destroy me otherwise."

I
grinned. This was the badass me that I wanted back… Well,
badass
for a good girl like
me.

"I
actually broke into one of their lockers early one morning before anyone was
really around and I found the little asshole’s journal. I was going to print it
and distribute it throughout school." I paused for effect. "However,
in the journal I found that he had written pages and pages of love notes to one
of the seniors on the wrestling team. I made a copy of it and when he opened
his mouth to hassle me, I handed the paper of his own words to him. I told him
I would plaster the school with it if he ever picked on me again. Needless to
say, the rest of my high school career was a piece of cake.”

Big
Stick's jaw dropped…

"Wow.
Look at you.
Little Miss Blackmail."

“Damn
right son,” I said, throwing my hands around like a stereotypical gangsta in a
movie.

He
raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you aren’t going to shoot me next are you?”

“Not
a chance!”

We
both got out of the car and walked towards the Dip in the Drink bar. This was a
total world away from the Snake Pit. It was much quieter, with jazzy music and
candles on the tables. Big Stick was a bit quiet, which worried me that he was
intimidated by my story. Stupid bloody story!

We
sat down next to each other at the bar and looked at what was on tap.

“Two
Blue Moons,” he ordered from the bartender.

I
looked at him surprised.

“It's
on your OkCupid profile,” he said and handed me the pint. I took a sip.

“This
is my favorite beer,” I said.

He
stared at me for a while, tilting his head in a strange way.

“What?”
I said, and brushed my hand across my lips and tucked a stray strand of hair
behind my ear.

“You
just have a very expressive face when you are enjoying something,” he said,
smiling. “You close your eyes a little and tilt your head back. A small little
smile creeps up and you moan a little.”

I
blushed
a deep red and felt my face heating up. Did I
really do all that?

“Well,
I think this beer deserves it, especially when it has an orange in it. It is
the height of pleasure.” I said and laughed.

It
was his turn to blush and shift in his seat. Wow, I thought. I can't believe I
just did that to a man. Bringing the A game today son!

“Jeez.
I feel like I should just buy you beer all night, then,” he said, then
realizing that what he said sounded creepy, amended that with, “Just so you'll
talk about beer, I mean. Not in a 'I want to get you drunk and take advantage
of you' sort of way.”

I
laughed it off. “I know you. Luckily we are a far ways away from the river,” I
joked.

He
laughed and drank his beer, then paused, tilted his head back slowly, closed
his eyes and smiled a little then gave a big UUGGHHH grunt.

“I
don't sound like THAT!” I said, laughing and hitting his arm.

“Whatever you want to believe.”

I
nudged him in the arm smiling and he grinned.

“So,
do you
wanna
hear a joke?” he asked. “It better be a
good one,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.

“Two
shots of Johnny Walker Black,” he said to the bartender.

“So
Pierre the French Fighter Pilot went out on a picnic one day with his lady
friend. They brought some picnic baskets filled with wine, cheese, bread, you
know, French things,” he said and I nodded, smiling already. “They talked and
ate and chatted and things were going great. So then his lady looks at him and
says 'Pierre, I want you so bad, take me now' and she put out her lips for him
to kiss.”

I
looked at his lips. Fever… I wanted to kiss him!

“So
Pierre, he pops a bottle of white wine and pours it over her face and kisses
her, lapping it offer her,” he said, mimicking that to me without the actual
kissing that I wanted so bad all of a sudden.

“She
sputters with the wine and says 'Pierre, why did you do that?' and he responds,
'I'm Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot. With my white meat I like white wine'.

I
started to laugh at what I thought was just the end of a really cheesy joke.

“Not
the end yet,” he said and I smiled. “So she gets really hot by this and she
rips open her shirt, exposing her breasts and says, 'Oh Pierre, you make me so
hot. Kiss me, take me now'.
So Pierre pops open a bottle of
red wine and pours
it over her breasts, doing the same.”

Now
he was leading me through every fantasy I ever had of him. Jesus Penus. That
was beginning to be my phrase for DAAAMMMNNN.

“So
she sputters at this again and says, 'Why Pierre? Why do you do this?' and
Pierre responds, 'I'm Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot. With my red meat I like
red wine'.”

I
made sure not to laugh this time, knowing that this joke was going to be in the
traditional set of three since he already did two.

“So
by this time, she is going out of her mind with lust for Pierre,” he said.

I
was.

“So
she takes off all her clothes and invites him to her and says, 'Pierre, I can
wait no longer. Please, give yourself to me'. So Pierre pops a bottle of port
and pours it over her crotch and lights it on fire.”

I
arched my eyebrow and looked. Where the fuck was this going? The thought almost
made me laugh.

“She
asks the same question of Pierre while batting out the flames
.
'
Pierre, why did you light my love garden on fire?' He responds to her,
'Why of course, I'm Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot. When I go down, I go down
in flames!”

I
shook my head at the absolute silliness of his long, elaborate joke. At least
he tried being funny. Most guys that try being funny say something to you but
it is just mean. But Big Stick? He just tells jokes. I’ve always loved jokes
ever since my grandpa started telling me them. Big
Stick’s
are just a little dirtier.

“That
is hi-LAR-
ious
,” I said to him, trying to make him
feel good. He smiled at me before finishing off his beer.
 

He
ordered two more and we talked for a while at that bar. It was a nice feeling.
He was easy to talk to.

………

Afterwards,
he drove me back to my apartment. I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek but he
had other ideas. He turned his face to mine and gently leaned in. When his lips
pressed into mine the kiss lasted much longer than I thought it would. Was he
going to try to go down town…?
In the school parking lot…?

I
pulled away, but regretted that. I wanted to keep kissing him, but I couldn't
let him think I was easy. Of course, I did tell him I was a virgin. He probably
figured I might be playing a little hard to get.

“Goodnight,
Olivia,” he said to me.

“Goodnight…
Big Stick…” I said, smiling back at him. I winked and walked towards my
apartment, a spring in my step that I couldn't help.

-----------Chapter
11-----------

I
had so far managed to avoid talking to both Jess and Veronica about that night
with Big Stick through a sly combination of long visits to the library and a
lot of pretending to be asleep in the morning when Jess awoke. But, it had only
been two days, and come Monday morning there was no avoiding my trek into the
“We Can Do It” offices.

“There’s
that whiskey-drinking slut who doesn’t answer my texts!”

Apparently
there was no avoiding Alex. His shrill, accusatory voice cut through all other
sounds in the office and suddenly I felt the eyes of every single one of my
co-workers on me.

"I'd
appreciate it if you'd refrain from calling me that, Alex," I sighed.
"At least while we're at work. It is original though - how many
Jager
shots did it take you to come up with that one?"

I
was walking towards the archival office where the rest of my month’s work would
likely be, thanks to Betty’s efforts to make my life outside of school a living
hell. Alex followed close behind me like a puppy nipping at my wheels.

“Okay,
Okay… I think we, like, seriously need to talk though.”

We
ducked into an empty conference room. There was a coffee machine in there, and
it seemed like we both needed it. We probably had about five minutes before
Barkov started combing the building for me. Ten minutes before she started
shrieking my name.

I
didn’t even get to start telling Alex about Big Stick before enduring a long
hissy fit of a harangue over shaking him and Veronica that night at The Snake
Pit.

“Are
you done?” I asked when he stopped to take a breath.

Alex
had been bouncing up and down in his chair, but now he stopped.

“Okay,
okay, tell me all about it,” he said.

And
I did. I told my friend who was practically salivating over the details, how
charming he was, about his car, and even the story and joke he told to me. I
found it charming how much he was willing to share, and once I got over the Mr.
No Name is Big Stick and Star Trek thing, it had been all smooth sailing. Once
I had laid out just how enchanting the evening had been for me, I affirmed that
I did indeed have plans to see Big Stick again, the inevitable came:

“Okay,
now you’re boring me, baby…” he lisped, leaning in conspiratorially. “I want
the juicy stuff? Was he good? How big is he? Do you think he swings both ways?”

I
nearly spat out my coffee.

“Listen,”
I said. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

“What
do you mean you didn’t sleep with him?” Alex sputtered.

Just
then I saw Bartok strutting down the hallway past the conference room, hands on
her hips, a big sneer on her face, and chewing on a piece of gum like it was a
horse bit.

“I
don’t have time for this now, Alex, okay? Can we just leave it at that? I did…
not… sleep… with… him.”

Alex
leaned back, looking genuinely confused and chewing on a nail.

“Well,
how big is his dick?”

I
shook my head and rolled my eyes.

………

The
worst part about going on a great first date is waiting to see if there is
going to be a second one. I wanted so badly to call Big Stick… Just to open the
door a crack and let him know how much fun I had the other night. But I could
hear my mother’s condescending voice:

“I
never had to call a boy when I was your age. What in the world would I want to
do that for?”

My
mom really was quite gorgeous back in the fifties. Her waist was about ten
inches around which made everything else look even curvier than they really
were. I completely believe her when she says she didn’t call any boys. They
were probably ringing her phone off the hook. But me, well, I was a different
story all together. I thought with my heart, not my head. However, lately I was
thinking with my vagina. It wanted another date. It wanted to call him.

“Don’t
you dare call
him!
” Jess hissed. “I’ll flush your cell
if you even think of it. Just get that idea out of your head!”

I
was shocked at Jess’ old-fashioned attitude.

“Since when are you the one to play hard
to get, Jess?”

She
narrowed her eyes at me and planted her hands on her hips.

“Hey,
I make them want me. I don’t chase them if I don’t get a second look.”

“Second look?”

“Yeah,
you know. You’re walking down the hallway and you see a
hottie
and you sort of, kind of give him that shy look like ‘Oh, you can’t be looking
at me I look dreadful’ as you pass by. Then you turn around and see he’s
watching your ass and then he looks at your face and…
Smiles.”

She
said this like she was explaining some intricate scientific formula. Presto!
Instant boyfriend.
At that moment my phone rang.

“I
can tell by the look on your face it’s HIM!” Jess squealed happily. “I’ll give
you some privacy. Here, go in the hall.” And she pushed me right out the door
into the busy hallway of our apartment. Not the living room, the hallway.

It
was kind of a blessing that Jess pushed me out there. With all the hustle and
bustle of college life I had to keep the conversation short. It made it seem
like I was really busy. In my mind I came across totally nonchalant and
confident as I agreed to meet for coffee. Something simple and in a crowded
place just in case he was a one-hit-wonder.