Page 66 of Cinderella Is Faking It

Ignoring her silent demand, I flipped to the sixth and last tab in her notebook. A category yet unused. I also grabbed the black gel pen because that seemed to be the only one she considered neutral enough to use throughout all her notes, no matter the color-coding. “Give me a detailed outline of your sexual history.” I wanted to hear about other men fucking her about as much as I wanted a root canal treatment, but that hardly mattered.

“Lost my virginity at 15.” She hummed a little thinking sound and tilted her head back, eyes wandering over the ceiling as if her sexual past was outlined there. “But then didn’t have sex again until I was 20 and in my first real relationship.”

I wrote down her timeline, my cursive looking like chicken-scratch after her tidy notes. “What about those 5 years in between?”

She pulled her shoulders up. “My first time sucked, so I wasn’t desperate to try getting naked again. I just figured I’d have better sex when the right guy came along.”

“Alright, what was your first boyfriend’s name?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Not to me.”

She crinkled her nose and nudged me with her elbow. “I won’t let you cyberstalk him.”

By the time we were finished outlining her sexual history, the positions she’d tried, the four models of vibrators and dildos she’d experimented with and the short list of places she’d had sex in (bed, sofa, shower), I was piecing together why she hadn’t shown up on Thursday. Despite how willingly she let me touch her, my promise to help next time she used the vibrator was already pushing against the boundaries of the safe and familiar for her. She could count the times she’d been eaten out on one hand for fuck’s sake. Although that might be coming down to her aversion to saliva on her skin. The fact that she herself wasn’t sure, simply meant we’d have to experiment. I could think of worse things to spend my time on.

I glanced over the edge of the notepad at the stacks of books. “I’m taking you out tomorrow.”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” she laughed and grabbed her water bottle.

Maybe I should have seen that as more of a red flag. Especially after I fucked up that kiss. If she still refused to be seen together in public but allowed me to push my fingers into her behind closed doors, this was teetering too close to casual.

“I’m talking about a sex club, Blondie,” I said.

She spluttered water back into her bottle.“What?”

“Theory is good, but I think it’s time you get a more personal sense of what makes people lose themselves in ecstasy. Because this,” I flipped back through her notes to where she had drawn very detailed genitals including a dozen labels with all the corresponding medical terms, “won’t get you off.”

“I can’t go to a sex club.” She snatched her notebook out of my hands and closed it, barring me from looking at her diagrams. “Just to clarify, I’m not judging you. I’m approaching all of this,” she waved at the books, “with curiosity, not judgement. But, Beck, you and I are in a minority when it comes to that kind of attitude. I can’t risk anyone seeing me at a sex club.”

“It’s the kind of club that prides itself on discretion. It’s more likely you’ll be the one recognizing some politician with a squeaky-clean image while he gets his cock sucked by a girl in a dog mask.”

She paled and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m picking you up tomorrow at nine.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

I was goingto asex club.

Iwas going to a sex club.

I’d sent a desperate message to the GC after leaving Beck’s that night, asking how one could get out of going to a sex club with a man that had fingered you twice.

The responses had been predictably on Beck’s side.

• frap sluts •

Tabitha:

loving this freaky new version of you

Defne:

Bring condoms! And dental dams! Be safe!

Tabitha:

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