Page 4 of Challenge
My eyes widen at her blatant dismissal of the sacred list we spent drunken hours coming up with in order to give me the boost I needed to lose my virginity. I even made a Pinterest board for it and added her as an admin.
First Tequila Sunrise judging and now this.
Okay, so I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin who’s slightly obsessed with how she’s going to lose her well overdue virginity status. As I said before, though, part of the reason I’m still holding on to my V-Card is Belle. It’s not her fault, per se, but when I met her, I was so focused on having fun with my first real friend that my virginity wasn’t a top priority. Hell, I’d never even been to a party before Belle dragged me to one.
Then, by the end of our three years in med school, I realised that I’d focused entirely on maintaining my scholarship and barely looked at boys. Sure, I’d had plenty of interactions with blokes. I learned how to accept and give a good French kiss, plus some basic foreplay stuff. But none of them felt right enough to go all the way with. I wasn’t ready. Med school had me over-flowing with firsts and the idea of getting intimate was overwhelming.
Enter the Penis List.
It was Belle’s idea. She thought that if I had a game plan and a clear type to look for, it would help me look at sex as an equation and not a conquest. It started out as a half-cracked idea, but I could see the strategy behind it, even when I was sober.
The list goes as follows:
The Penis List
Penis #1: The virginity snatcher.
Should be a bad boy. A player. A little sleazy. Should be hot—the hottest guy I’d ever see in real life. Cocky, confident, and even arrogant. Should administer the best sex of my life. Should be well penially hung.
Penis #2: The sweetie.
Should be kind, sensitive, nurturing, and tender. The ultimate nice guy. Should dress nicely. Should tuck his shirt in. Might cry when he comes. Should put your needs before his. Above all: A penial giver.
Penis #3: The ultimate cocktail.
The perfect blend of number one and number two. Should be both a giver and a taker. Both a DOM and a SUB. Both a lover and a fighter. A blissful penial balance. Husband material.
“Look, Belle, you were there when we made the Penis List.” I cup my hand and whisper the last bit, my eyes sweeping the room to double-check that we’re still alone. “I’m not saving myself for Mr. Perfect. I’m saving myself for Penis Number One.”
“We made that list two years ago, Indie. When are you going to find Penis Number One already?” she asks, her tone approaching shrill. “He shouldn’t be the Holy Grail of cocks for God’s sake. I love you, but you are in serious need of a push right now. Don’t make me mama bird you out of the nest. ‘Cause I’ll do it. I’ll shove you right out and make you fly.”
I exhale heavily and drop my head back against my locker, turning my gaze up to the ceiling and begging the heavens for some act of God so I could get on with it already.
“Is it too much to ask for the universe to drop a bad boy player on my lap? I don’t want to settle for a Stanley. Stanley is a number two. I don’t want to lose it to a number two. I want my first to be the most epic shag ever. A night that I will never forget. A night that makes me hoarse from screaming that I love life for giving me the experience. The kind of shag I’ll be able to tell my grandkiddies about someday.”
“You know you’re speaking out loud, right?” Belle’s nose wrinkles as she asks, “Why exactly are you telling your grandchildren about how you lost your virginity?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s just an expression. Although, I envisage myself as being that really cool, hip nan who shares all my wild party days with my own little faction of whippersnappers.”
Giggling, she says, “Okay, couple of things wrong with what you just said. Faction? We’re not post-apocalyptic, so stop being so dramatic.”
I adjust my glasses and shoot her a glare, but it doesn’t slow her down. “Also, nobody uses envisage in general conversation. Your prodigy-ness is showing.”
“Ha, ha,” I grumble.
“Okay, back on topic.” Belle walks back over to her bed and slips her feet into her trainers. Her eyes are slanted deep in thought. “I think we can fix this virginity thing. What if you try just the tip?”
“The tip of what?” I ask, distracted by my own internal thoughts about finding the right kind of player to do this with.
“The tip of Stanley’s cock.” Her face is deathly serious. Her eyes pierce me with encouragement.
“You are such a bloke sometimes,” I groan, disgusted. “That sounds exactly like what a man would say if he were trying to get in a woman’s knickers.”
“Indie,” a proud smile spreads across her face. “A tip can be quite nice if wielded properly. You just have to have him stroke—”
“Enough!” I cover my ears. I’m over virginity talk with Belle. I am maxed out on Belle’s advice on how to get this done.
She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I may still be a virgin, but I’m not immature anymore. My time hasn’t come and gone. I refuse to turn into a thirty-year-old virgin unicorn. That’s certainly not the type of majestic creature I want to be, even if it does entitle me to a forehead horn.
