Virgin (20 page)

He finished putting it on, and then brought his dick near my vagina. He grinned at me, gently poking it in.

“OWWW!” I screeched. It felt like he had hit a brick wall inside me and was thwacking against it.

“Sorry,” he said, looking genuinely concerned. “Try and open up a bit.”

I tried to breathe deeply, and he pushed himself in again but my closed vag valves refused to let him in. This was not going well.

He shrugged and gave up. He pulled me towards him and started kissing me again. Oh my God, no. How could this be happening? Why was my body not letting me fulfill my dream? This was so unfair. I was
so close
.

I had to try again. “No, let’s keep trying,” I urged.

“Ellie, it’s not working . . .” he said.

“Please,” I begged, then realized how unsexy that was. “I want you so bad,” I whispered, channeling the teacher/Britney porno I’d witnessed. Who knew their minimal dialogue would be so useful?

“Okay,” he said with a grin. “Try and sit on top of me.”

“Um, okay,” I said, and started maneuvering my body uncertainly. I eventually sat on my knees, one on either side of his body. Then, gently, with his help, I lowered myself onto his still-erect penis. I was descending on him. Slowly, I felt the tip of him rub against my lips. With a deep breath and a prayer to every God out there, I descended. Bit by bit, millimeter by millimeter, he was inside me. I gasped in agony as I felt him go right inside, farther than the Champneys bottle had gone. He groaned in delight and my face lit up.

I WASN’T A VIRGIN ANYMORE!

Then I remembered we had to keep going.

Shit, what was I meant to do? Like, go up and down? Ride him like a cowgirl on a wild buffalo? I tried to go up and down but I had no rhythm to speak of. With every attempt the pain got more uncomfortable and I realized how much my thighs lacked muscle.

He took charge. Careful not to let him slip out of me, we rotated so I was on my back and we were in the missionary position. He put a hand on either side of me, as if doing a push-up, and started pumping himself in and out. It felt mildly sore but not agonizing. It was more mechanical than pleasurable, but my face broke into a smile that spread across my face and wouldn’t stop growing. Jack caught my eye and grinned.

I started to wonder how long it would last. I’d spent so long preparing myself for the moment of penetration that I hadn’t got round to imagining this part. In my head, a penis entering a vagina was accompanied by an explosion of confetti and balloons. That hadn’t happened in reality. Now he was pushing himself in and out of me, his face winced up in a cross between pain and twisted euphoria.

He groaned loudly and I knew I should start making my little moans again. Whenever I had a real orgasm I barely made any sounds, but I felt silence wasn’t an appropriate form of climax. I stifled a yawn and tried to release low, sensual sounds. He gave a particularly enthusiastic thrust and one of my sexy sighs turned into a loud grunt. I cleared my throat and pretended it hadn’t happened.

“Are you okay?” He was breathing heavily, his voice husky and masculine.

“Mm-hm,” I replied, my lips pushed together as I breathed through my nose to try to lessen the discomfort. I tried to recall what the yoga teacher at the five-quid student class I’d once attended had told us.
Breathe through the pain. Long
,
deep breaths, in and out of your nose.

“Are you sure?” he asked again. “You’re breathing kind of funny.”

Damn you, yoga instructor. I gave him a little smile and switched back to breathing through my mouth. Both his breathing and his thrusts became quicker and I bit my bottom lip in anticipation. He was gearing up to release his man-load.

His penis pushed into me harder and deeper than before and my mouth dropped open in shock, gasping at the sudden pain as he sped up. It went in and out again, faster and faster. He was unaware of my agony and within seconds his body was shaking. He let out a groan and collapsed on top of me. His five-foot-ten, average male body fell on top of my exposed boobs. I felt my windpipe crunch into my organs and I gasped for breath.

He held me tightly as he carried on coming into me and gradually his breathing slowed. We lay there for seconds. Me, unable to breathe, and he, regaining his breath.

“That . . . was . . . amazing,” he gasped. “You’re so tight.”

“Um, thanks?” I managed as he untangled his arms from around me and pulled himself off my body. His manhood fell out of me, limp and shriveling. It got smaller and fatter and the damp, cloudy condom crinkled itself around it like used plastic wrap. I stared in fascination at the small bald creature withdrawing into its layers of natural habit.

He pulled the condom off, pulling his penis at the same time, and my eyes grew rounder as I realized how much force the penis could withstand. It stretched out and then bounced back. It was like Play-Doh.

He collapsed onto the bed next to me, dropping the condom onto the floor, where I heard it plop onto my soft green rug. I grinned at the fact that I was a twenty-one-year-old girl with a naked man in her bed, a dirty condom on the floor and a sore vagina. I was finally a normal student. I had achieved the dream.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I lay my head on his naked upper body, nuzzling my face into his chest hair and breathing in his sweat. I closed my eyes happily. I was cuddling up to my boyfriend post-sex. I’d just lost my virginity to a perfect guy in the most perfect way. I had to text my friends.

I shifted away from him, and in the dim light, searched the floor for my mobile. My hand hit something smooth and hard and I grabbed it. I switched it on and immediately tapped out a message.

I LOST MY V-PLATES HALF A SECOND AGO. I’M A REAL WOMAN. I’M EVERY WOMAN. AH!!!!!!

I started typing in Lara’s name, but then remembered we still weren’t back to the way we were before the fight. I felt a pang of pain and guilt and sickness and sadness. Where was the fun in losing your virginity if you couldn’t share it with your best friend?

“Babe, what are you doing over there?” Jack called out.

His voice yanked me back to reality. This was
my
moment. I wasn’t going to let Lara’s weirdness spoil it. I was typing Emma’s and Paul’s names into the “to” box when Jack’s leg kicked against mine.

“Ellie?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “Are you texting?”

“Oh my God, no,” I said, dropping my phone back onto the floor. “I’m just, um, checking the time.”

There was a pause. “Right, okay. What’s the time?”

“Like, eleven twenty-three?” I said.

“Cool,” he said, and we looked at each other. “So, how does it feel to not be a virgin anymore?” he asked.

I grinned shyly. “I don’t know. Good, I guess.”

He smiled back at me. “Glad to hear it. Now come here and give me a snog.”

I obliged and we lay intertwined on my white bedsheets until I suddenly remembered the post-virginity blood. I looked down, panicked, but there was nothing there. I turned my back to Jack, pretending to search for my knickers as I quickly put my finger into my vagina and pulled it out again. I squinted. In the light it looked like there was nothing on it. Thank God. The Champneys bottle had worked.

Relieved, I pulled my pants on, just in case, and climbed back into bed. Jack spread his arm out so I could lie right next to him, resting my head on his chest. He squeezed my boob and I giggled, slapping him in feigned annoyance. He gave me a kiss and then we fell asleep. We spooned all night, our sweaty bodies sticking to each other. We were the couple I had always wanted to be a part of.

I walked into university the next day feeling like I owned that campus. I put my headphones on but even my Girl Power playlist couldn’t live up to my mood. The sun was shining and I wasn’t a virgin anymore. As I walked down Gower Street, it felt like everyone’s eyes were on me. The big scarlet
V
I’d been wearing emblazoned across my chest for twenty-one years was gone, and now I exuded sex appeal. My skin was practically alight and I was high on endorphins. It was better than heroin, probably. I bounced up the stone steps where Girls Aloud once did a chocolate commercial and plonked myself down in the very middle, gazing out onto the quad in front of me.

I’d spent the morning with Jack. We’d gone to the supermarket across the road and bought muesli because he couldn’t handle having a bowl of Coco Pops for breakfast. We bickered like a proper couple in the cereal aisle and even the angry shop owner tutted fondly at the image of young love browsing his shelves. Jack made the teas while I poured the cereal into bowls and we slurped up our breakfast whilst lying in bed next to each other. He eventually went off to work and I showered and got myself ready, casually sauntering into university for my twelve o’clock lecture, having missed my nine a.m. one.

I sat on the steps watching the world go by, wondering if anyone else out there could possibly be as happy as I was.

I closed my eyes and let the brisk May sun warm my skin. It was still cold so I was wrapped up in my leather jacket with a scarf I’d hand-knitted. I was cocooned and warm in my chrysalis. I was a newborn butterfly.

“Guess who?” trilled a high-pitched voice as a pair of cold, clammy hands covered my eyes.

“Emma, get off!” I shrieked. “You scared me half to death.”

She laughed. “Well, you shouldn’t sit here like a total creep with your eyes closed. What were you doing, babe? You looked like you were praying . . .”

I swatted her shoulder. “Obviously I wasn’t praying. I was just, I don’t know, feeling grateful, and warm, and happy and in love . . .”

She stared at me.

“In love with the world,” I clarified.

Her forehead creased and she looked at me dubiously through her huge tortoiseshell Jackie O shades. “Um. What’s wrong with you?”

I looked at her and beamed. “Nothing.”

Her mouth dropped open and she shrieked, “OH MY GOD, you did it, didn’t you?! You’re not a virgin anymore!”

“Please, tell the whole campus.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, lowering her voice but throwing her arms around me. “This is just such a huge moment and I’m so happy for you! How was it?”

She sat on the steps with me and I sighed blissfully. “Emma, it was amazing. Not the actual sex—that was a bit uncomfortable but obviously it will get better with time. But the whole not being a virgin thing. I feel so
free
and normal, like now I can be in a conversation with anyone and not have this flashing
V
over my head that I’m constantly trying to hide.”

She smiled at me, nudging me with her elbow. “This is so good, El. It’s just . . . nice to see you really happy in yourself.”

Hadn’t I always been happy in myself? I was happy as a virgin, and I was happy now. I was just a bit happi
er
. I smiled back at her. “Thanks, Em. So, how’s Sergio?”

Her cheeks flushed and she pushed her sunglasses down her nose so she could peer over the rims. “So, last night Sergio told me he isn’t seeing anyone else . . . and would like me not to see anyone, as well . . .”

“Oh. My. God,” I said, putting down my Coke can so heavily the froth spilled over the edge. “Are you and him exclusive?”

“Um, maybe.” She blushed.

“Are you . . . in a relationship?” I asked.

She sighed dramatically and took the sunglasses off. “I can’t believe you asked me that, Ellie. You know I don’t do
relationships
,” she said, practically spitting out the word. “I’m just seeing him exclusively. We’re hanging out. For a while. If and when I get bored, I’ll hang out with some more people. I’m just temporarily hanging out
à deux
.”

I stared in silence. Emma had a boyfriend. “Oh, Emma, this is amazing! I’m so happy for you!” I finally said. Except why did I have a heavy, sinking feeling inside me?

A line from my childhood flashed into my head. I used to love reading
What Katy Did Next
, when I wasn’t reading
Pollyanna
or
Anne of Green Gables
. My favorite Katy line was when she got jealous of her friends:
How heavily roll the wheels of other people’s joy.

That was my life. Emma’s joy was rolling very heavily over me. What was wrong with me? I should be happy for my friend, just like she was happy for me. Instead I was being typically selfish and wishing Jack would ask
me
if we could be exclusive. I sighed and forced myself to be a grown-up. I hugged Emma.

“Uff, what’s this for?” she asked, her voice muffled as she spoke through the holes in my scarf.

“It’s a congratulations hug. And a thank-you hug, for listening to all my crap about Jack. I promise I’ll stop soon.”

She laughed. “Um, please don’t stop. Where else would I get such brilliant stories about bad waxes and awkward dates?”

I shrugged. “Meh. I guess you have a point. Did I tell you Jack had never seen a Brazilian before?”

Her eyes widened. “No way! He didn’t like the Hitler?”

“Only I’m allowed to call it that,” I barked. “But yes . . . he was freaked out by it.” She started to laugh and I scowled in response. “Emma,” I moaned. “Do you not think it was embarrassing enough having to be there and see him freak out at the sight of it, without you making me relive the humiliation?”

“It’s good for you,” she advised, and then broke into laughter. “Oh man, just imagine if it had been you, and he’d pulled his trousers down and there was a man-Brazilian staring at you.”

“Oh my God, don’t,” I cried. “It’s too close to the truth. Jack was completely shaved down there. It was so unexpected—James Martell had a full-on bush.”

“Oh yeah, a few years ago hardly any guys even trimmed but now they’re really getting into shaving and removing it all,” said Emma. “I guess it evens things out with women.”

“Really? I find it so odd. I’d rather we all just left it au naturel and no one had to bother about any of it.” I sighed. “Anyway, thank God the Boy-Brazilian hasn’t become a trend yet.”

“Here’s hoping.” She clamped her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I almost forgot to show you. Are you ready for your present?” I looked at her in confusion as she rooted around in her leather tote and pulled out a rolled-up magazine. “Ta-da!”

It was the new edition of the student magazine. “Oh my God, my column!” I screeched. “Have you seen it? What’s it like?”

She grinned and brandished the relevant page in my face. “It’s amazing—and you look beautiful and clever and funny and I could not be more proud.”

The column was on the left side of the centerfold. It was headed “Ellie on ANARCHY” and they had used the picture I had sent in where the sun’s rays naturally airbrushed my skin. I quickly scanned the column and realized they had barely edited it. At the bottom it read “by Ellie Kolstakis.” “Oh my God,” I cried out. “I can’t believe it’s finally in here and it actually looks good!”

Emma whooped and hugged me. “It looks more than good, and I’ve very proud of you. I’ve already seen a bunch of students reading it. Just think—you’re going to be famous. A total BNOC.” I raised an eyebrow questioningly and she sighed. “Big Name On Campus, Ellie. Keep up with the slang.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I can’t see that happening anytime soon, Em. Anyway, we’re late for Chaucer.”

For one more day, my mood was euphoric. Then it wore off and I started my comedown. I was sitting in the library on Tuesday morning when it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard from Jack since we’d done the deed two days earlier. He hadn’t sent a single message, and okay, we didn’t exactly text every day, but I’d given him my
virginity
.

His silence was disconcerting. Every time my phone vibrated, I pulled the screen open expectantly. Eventually, mid-Tuesday, I decided to take matters into my own hands and send him a message. I was a twenty-first-century female—why should I sit here waiting for
him
to message? Hell, he was probably twiddling his thumbs at home wondering why I hadn’t messaged him yet. I asked him how he was and if he wanted to meet later in the week.

After ten hours of tension and stress, he finally replied, saying it would be good to meet up this weekend, but he’d have to let me know when, and that he was well and how was I? My face lit up the second I got his message. He wasn’t blowing me off—he was just busy and he still wanted to see me. I decided not to reply for a while, so I could prolong the feeling of calmness and contentment his message had provoked. I knew the second I replied, the tables would turn, and I’d sit in a state of angst waiting for his response. Seeing as how I had a dissertation to finish and hand in at the end of the week, I needed my emotional levels at optimum tranquillity. I put my phone in a drawer, sat down with pen poised in hand and proceeded to edit my dissertation.

Midway through a particularly dry paragraph on imagery, my emotional levels dipped. Drastically. I needed Lara. I couldn’t go on anymore without her knowing the biggest thing that had happened to me in my entire life. Our horrible fight had been freaking me out since it happened, but I was no longer a virgin and she didn’t know. My medical records were now lies. I was a Post-V and my best friend had no clue.

I needed to tell Lara. This was ridiculous. One of us had to be the bigger person and reach out to cross the gulf that had appeared in our friendship. This time I would actually apologize to Lara; I would cross the Rubicon just like Alexander the Great. I would be a Greek hero. I started flinging my work into a folder, before I remembered the dissertation was due on Friday. I had to finish editing it, do the whole bibliography, print it out again and get it bound. I let out a very long sigh. I would have to postpone the Rubicon crossing.