The Accidental Virgin (20 page)

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tacy Temple, 32, red of head, pink of cheek, eyebrows singed, unemployed, impoverished, unplucked and unlucky, woke up to a sunny, humid New York City July afternoon the very picture of happiness. She was also inquisitive, asking herself and her ceiling, “So how does one start the first day of a new life?” On the premiere morning of wide-open freedom and freshness, what did one eat for breakfast? More importantly: What did one wear?

With a red miniskirt and a bowl of Coco Pebbles in mind, Stacy swung her feet over the side of her bed. It was the one-year anniversary of her last sexual encounter. Technically, since she’d had that last romp with Brian in the evening, Stacy figured she still had a few hours before her revirgination was official. Not that she had any plans to pursue the issue further. She was off, way off, way, way off her quest for sex, and had moved on to bigger and better things (that might include sex, but not just fucking).

What she did hanker for, deeply, longingly, at that moment, was a pizza. She rolled out of bed, plugged in the phone (she’d unplugged it last night) and placed the call to Salvatore’s. There was that adorable Albanian teenager who made the deliveries…
No, no, no,
she reminded herself.
Forget it.

While she waited for the pizza’s arrival, Stacy showered, powdered and perfumed. She slipped on the Pink Pussycat silk robe (a thongs.com Valentine’s Day special promotion), with the matching peignoir and fuzzy open-toe low-heeled slippers. She arranged her straight red hair on a pile atop her head, a few key strands hanging down around her face. She had no intention of seducing the Albanian teen. But a girl still wanted to look presentable. She made her bed and cleaned up the room.

The half hour passed quickly. The phone rang. It was the pizza boy, explaining that he’d buzzed and buzzed with no response. Stacy remembered she’d turned the volume down on her intercom last night, and asked him to try again. When she heard the telltale hum, she clicked open her building’s front doors. She was ravenous. She’d forgotten to eat last night (after the botched barbecue on the roof, food had temporarily lost its appeal), and a liquid dinner of martinis always made her crave salt and fat the next day. She tightened the silk belt of her robe and opened her apartment door, practically salivating for her pie. Finally, the elevator doors to her floor opened.

The scent of pizza struck her nose. She closed her eyes with anticipation. Her life was a mass of uncertainty, but she could still appreciate the small pleasures. When she opened her eyes, instead of the Albanian teen, she saw her friend Charlie standing at the thresh-old of her door, holding the pizza box. Jason, the handsome hairy man, held her Diet Coke. Brian, her ex, stood to Jason’s right; Jorge, the male escort, to Charlie’s left. Stanley, the pornographer, tried to elbow his way in front of Brian. Taylor Perry, her former colleague, was next to Stanley. And lurking behind the pack, Oliver, her Vampire/computer hack neighbor, paced in the hallway.

Charlie said, “Pizza for breakfast?”

“It’s one o’clock,” she said. “Where’s the delivery boy?”

“I gave him a twenty,” said Charlie as he appraised her outfit. “He thought he was making out. If he’d only known what was waiting for him up here.”

Jorge said, “May we come in?”

Stacy held the door open. The six men and one woman, each of whom had been a candidate in Stacy’s weeklong breakneck race to reclaim sexually active status, entered her apartment and found seats on her couch and chairs. Stacy gently closed the door and joined the group in her living room.

Stanley said, “Just for the record, I was the first one downstairs.”

Jason said, “I was here last night.”

“You were outside. I was here last night,” said Oliver.

Charlie held up his hand. “I have no idea who this guy is” — he pointed at Oliver — “but the rest of us have been downstairs for an hour. We all feel bad about how things played out with you this week, and we want another chance,” he said.

“Together?” asked Stacy. The idea was not unpleasant to her. The men and Taylor shook their heads in unison. “One at a time?” asked Stacy.

“We’d each like a chance to state our case, and then you can choose one of us,” said Jason.

“I saw them coming down the hallway,” said Oliver. “Figured I deserved a chance, too.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Stacy, tickled as pink as her robe. “Each of you wants me terribly and you’re so moved by passion and regret that you’ve come to beg for my favors. Finding each other downstairs, you conceived this highly democratic competition. At its conclusion, I will choose one man — or woman — and the rest of you will go away without any hurt feelings?”

The crowd nodded. It was downright Zen: Release the desire, and it will be yours. Stop searching, and you will find. Stacy bathed in the glory of the moment. It was an egotist’s — any woman’s — most indulgent fantasy. An embarrassment of riches. A tidal wave of adoration. After the week she’d had, this peacock parade (plus the token hen), the luxury of choice, was the perfect way to begin again.

“Who goes first?” she asked, practically rubbing her palms together with glee.

“We did rock, paper, scissors downstairs,” ventured Charlie. “Jorge, then Jason, Stanley, Brian, Taylor, and me. But since Oliver came to the party late, he can go first.”

Stacy asked Jason and Jorge to scoot over so she could squeeze in between them on the couch. Oliver stood in the center of the room. Stacy considered grabbing her camera, but that might seem crass.

“I haven’t had time to prepare a speech,” said Oliver. “So this might sound clumsy. After I left last night, I went to a bar and looked at women. One tried to pick me up. She was pretty. Really pretty, actually. But all I could think about was kissing you. When I walked back up here, I wondered what you were doing, if you were listening to music, what kind of music you like, if you were reading, what books you like. What the last video you rented was. Whether you cook, or order in. I spent half the night wondering about you. And I decided that, in the morning, I’d ask. So, here I am. What’s the last video you rented?” He raked back his thick, black hair and looked at her with his ice blue eyes.

She said,
“The Big Lebowski.”

“Love that movie,” he said. “Thanks.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back. She asked, “That’s it?”

“I’ve got a million questions, but we can deal with them one at a time, over a long time.”

“Small talk over?” asked Jorge. Oliver nodded.

Gorgeous Jorge rose from his spot on the couch. His professionalism showed, even on a Sunday morning. Wearing an immaculate Hugo Boss summer-weight suit, Jorge stood proud and tall. “For the last five years, I haven’t had sex without being paid for it,” he said. The other men in the room regarded him with a mix of awe and envy. “Wealthy and powerful women have spent as much as five thousand dollars for an hour of my time, and I’ve been the best lover of their lives. They’ve told me so. And they had no reason to lie. Many of these rich powerful women are also beautiful. But rarely are they young. When I first saw you the other night, Stacy, I was surprised. You’re young, pretty and sweet. I would have slept with you for bargain basement prices. But you walked out on me. No woman has ever walked out on me. And that got me thinking.”

Stacy imagined that he didn’t do much of that. He continued, “I can’t let a customer get away that easily. I’m offering myself to you — and I can’t emphasize enough my technical skills, Stacy — for the low, low, extra-low price of free. All day. I’ve cleared my schedule.”

Stacy wondered if this was like getting one of those AOL starter disks in the mail. Try it once and you’ll sign up for monthly service. Stacy thanked Jorge. He sat back down next to her and patted her knee.

Next up: Jason. He glared at Jorge as he stood. “I am not offering just sex to you, Stacy,” he said. “I am offering my heart. I knew I liked you when we had lunch, but I’m very self-conscious about my, uh, excess body hair. I thought you had to be totally turned off. When you told Charlie you wanted to see me, I hoped it meant that you liked me, too. But then he told me you were on this sex mission, and wanted to use me. I was disappointed, hurt, insulted — and intimidated. That’s why I didn’t come in after the screening. After a few days, though, I came to see sex with you as a first step toward a relationship. There’s also the lure of having sex for its own sake. I’d like that very much. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Monday night.”

Stacy politely applauded Jason’s honesty. She was all he’d been thinking about. She hadn’t thought about him once since he’d blown her off.

Stanley Bombicci stood abruptly. “My turn.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear from you, Stanley,” said Stacy.

He held up his hand. “I’ve spent a long time preparing my speech, and you can’t stop me from giving it. Let me start by saying that I appreciate Jorge’s good business sense. And I know most women want the relationship Jason is talking about. But what I’m offering you, Stacy, is the role of a lifetime, the role of muse. Through me, you could be the inspiration for millions of male fantasies. In fact, you already are.”

“I know, Stanley. I visited smut.com last night and saw my doppelganger on-screen,” she said.

Stanley asked, “You logged on to my site? You watched the model do her masturbation routine? Am I the only guy here who just got hard?”

Stacy said, “Thanks, Stanley. Your message is coming through loud and clear.”

“But I have more,” he protested, reaching into his pocket for his scribbled notes.

“Save it for your next script,” she said. Reluctantly, he sat.

Brian, her engaged ex, took the floor. “Well, as you know, Stace, I’m going to be married in three months. You were the last woman I was with before I met Idit, and I want you to be the last woman I sleep with before I begin a faithful marriage. A last hurrah — isn’t that the phrase you used when we slept together the night we broke up?” It was indeed. Brian continued, “These guys want relationships, but I know that’s not what you want. We broke up because you didn’t have time for a relationship with me, and you won’t with anyone else. Your job comes first. So if you want no-strings-attached sex, I’m your man.” Brian gave her the half-cocked eyebrow expression Stacy knew only too well. She couldn’t help but remember his good-natured affection.

Taylor, who’d been listening raptly, said, “She doesn’t have a job anymore. So that punches a hole in your argument, Brian.”

“Thongs.com is no more?” asked Charlie.

“As of today,” said Taylor. “Everyone knows. And my offer for you to come to pets.com is still good, Stacy. When I heard that Fiona had shafted the staff to save herself, and that you’d walk away with a pittance, I felt terrible for you. But not the phony sympathy that someone in my position might have, looking down on the less fortunate from my safe spot at the hottest website in town. I felt genuine sadness for you, and it made me realize that my feelings for you are real and deep and that maybe we can make a serious go at a relationship. I’ve kind of figured out that you like men. And that you lied to me about having an ex-girlfriend. You’ve probably never been with a woman before me. Don’t you like the symmetry? We’re both lesbian virgins. I guess, if you’d need to, we could work our way into it. Start by having a threesome with one of these guys.”

Every man in the room volunteered to help.

“Very generous of you all,” said Stacy. “And thank you, Taylor, for thinking of my comfort.”

Charlie said, “I guess it’s my turn.” He stood and started speaking softly. “We’ve been friends since college. Despite all those years of telling each other everything, I never told you how I feel about you,” he said. “You, Stacy, are the woman I always thought I’d end up with. I figured we’d fool around with other people in insignificant relationships for a couple decades, and then, one day, when we were worn out and tired of flings, we’d turn to each other and get married. ‘One day’ has come faster than I thought it would. It’s here. Now. Two friends who are as close as we are should be together. Sexual chemistry — we proved we have that on Thursday. These last flings with that publicist and the med student confirm it for me. I’m ready to get serious. I want marriage and children. With you.” Stacy stood and kissed Charlie on both cheeks. She gestured for him to sit.

The showcase over, Stacy took the spot in front of the couch and smiled at each of them in turn. She said, “Just so you all know, a word-for-word account of the last hour will be recorded diligently in my journal. And, whenever I feel blue, I’m going to read the transcription over and over again. I am grateful for everything you’ve said to me. It means a lot. Right here.” She patted her heart.

“Tick tock, Stacy,” said Stanley.

“Yes, I’ll get right to it,” she said. “Stanley, much as I’d love to be jerk-off fodder for an army of zitty losers, why don’t you leave my apartment immediately?”

Without too much protest, the smut king split. But first, he took out his notes, ripped them to scraps, and threw them at her.

Brushing the bits of paper off, Stacy turned to her ex-boyfriend. “Brian, what we had was nice. I suspect you’ve come here out of a lingering sense of responsibility to me. You are only responsible to Idit from now on. Good luck and so long.”

Brian left.

“Jorge,” she said, turning toward the natty escort. “I have your card. You might hear from me.”

“I’ll have to charge you full price,” he warned.

“You’re not in business to give it away,” she said, shaking his hand good-bye.

Stacy smiled at Taylor, who was leaning against the wall by the purse collection. “I will never forget kissing a woman, Taylor. It was soft and sweet and good. But I don’t think I want to do it again. As for the job offer, I’ll let you know, but my instincts tell me that I need a break for a while. At least a few months.”

Taylor nodded, bowed, and bid adieu.

And then there were three.

“Jason,” said Stacy, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I know about fifteen women who will absolutely love you. May I give a few of them your number?” The handsome hairy man was indeed a catch. But Stacy was looking for a different kind of ball.