Losing Virginity (17 page)

"Now,"
she began, a languid tone entering her voice. "I’ve noticed that you've
been chatting with some of the financial staff as well..."

She
let the accusation hang in the air for me to grab it.

"Yeah,"
I said a little confused. "We talked at one of the after-hours cocktail
meet ups."

"Hmmm,"
Bartok said, drawing out the sound. "And what did you and Mr. Andrews talk
about?"

I
had no idea where she was going with this.

I
also don't exactly remember what we were talking about and her creepy demeanor
wasn't helping me think straight.

"Do
you remember?" she asked, smiling.

"I
think we were talking about a project that the company was considering in
Southern Nigeria where we could lend under $10,000 dollars and double grain
production this year," I said, thinking back to the project. "It
would be an important project, especially after last year's harvest which hit
them pretty hard. Normally they would have had more seed, but they are
struggling this year..."

Bartok
slammed her pen into the stack of papers she had laid on the desk.

"And
when were you transferred to the Micro lending department?" she said, acid
dripping from her fanged mouth. "I wasn't aware that your MBA was already
in hand and that George Fucking Soros had you on speed dial, Ms.
Spurgeon!"

I
flinched back. Holy shit, what was going on here?

“I'm
not sure what's wrong…" I started.

"I
know you love to
strut
your stuff around this place as
the innocent little virgin and turn the heads of every man in the place,"
Bartok said.

What?
How did Bartok know I was a virgin? And I was not strutting. Well, maybe today
I was.

"But
if you EVER try to use your undefiled innocence to tempt one of our financial
officers and disrupt the flow of capital again, I will make sure your modesty
doesn't leave here
inTACT
," she said, slamming
her palm down on the desk with the last syllable. "You're dismissed for
the day. Tomorrow when you come in there will be a new stack of assignments on
your desk and the deadlines will be due by with absolutely no exceptions!”

Bartok
left the office, stalking out the doors like a wolf into the deep woods. I
stood there shocked. That meeting left me unable to think. I had no idea that
was what I was doing to Gary Andrews. I thought I was just making a good case
for the Nigerian farmers.

I
picked up my backpack and zombie-shuffled out of the office. I couldn't wipe
the look of shock off my face as I left. Veronica and Alex gave me looks of
support as I walked by them and out the door.

………

When
I kicked open the door to my apartment bedroom, there was no overactive puppy
named Jess to greet me. I was alone for the time being. God, no matter how much
that woman aggravated me at
times,
I couldn’t help but
realize how much I needed her as my other half. She really would fit the
portrait of my Freudian Double, thank you Intro to Psychology lecture classes.

I
sat down at the desk where I magically pulled every crucial paper out of my
magic bag of tricks and I began to work on my latest five page paper. It was an
analysis of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, specifically the Wife of Bath story.

Of
course my teacher would assign that. Sometimes it felt like all of my teachers
were watching me and knew the specific intricacies of my life to the detailed
minutiae.

The
story involved a 'so called knight' who raped some woman, then was brought
before King Arthur's court. Strangely enough, King Arthur's wife decides to
take this knight’s side and asks him to search the land for what 'women really
want'. Hell, I was a woman and even I didn’t know. How could you expect a man
who bathed once a month and threw stones at an eclipse to know the answer to
this question?

It
seemed a fair bit of bullshit to me, but I read it and I believed that maybe in
that era, someone did give a shit about what women did want: the orgasm. Not
really though.

So
what really happened was that the knight was sent on a mission to figure out
what women want.

That
was apparently the punishment for rape back then.

I
imagined what the court must have looked like:

Queen:
Oh, Dear Knight, you have taken a poor vassal against her will!

Knight:
Aye, I did. It is only a man's way.

Queen:
I understand. Such is nature. Men lust and women are
thine
objects.

Knight:
That's what she said.

Queen:
I did.
Anyway.
My punishment for you is not gelding,
castration or any manner of feminization, but rather that you take a year and a
day to roam the countryside finding the secret to what women most desire.

Knight:
I... Thought I was doing that already?

Queen:
Nay. You were only divining the needs of the most ratchet of 'bitches'.

Knight:
So I'm basically going to go work at Elle or Cosmo or something?

Queen:
Exactly. That is your punishment for the most egregious crime of 'rape'. You
are to work at a women's magazine for a year.

Knight:
You only live once.

Queen:
Precisely. However, if you do not come up with the answer to my question of
what women desire most within one year and a day, I shall chop off your heads!

Knight:
Heads?

Queen:
Oh yes. And in the end, the judgment of whether you find out what we want is up
to this fickle woman. Isn't it great to rely on a completely foreign gender for
the preservation of your life?

Knight:
It is lovely, your majesty

………

And scene.

Unfortunately
what he came back with wasn't a lesson, but a back-handed insult at women.
After meeting an old hag who tells him the secret, he tells the court that
women most desire control over their husbands.

Although
I hadn't yet written a single line about the arbitrary feminism displayed in
that old bastard's tale, I felt that I had somewhat of a gist on what he was
trying to say: woman can either be sluts or nags. Also, although men will give
up and give into you, they still want the young, shapely maid over the old hag,
even though the old hag was faithful.

So
what does faithful even matter in this age-old story? Many hundreds of years
ago, a man could rape a woman and his punishment was to go ask women what they
really wanted.

If
a woman was unfaithful, she could have been killed or have her limbs chopped
off. It was a tough world out there for women and I had to be tougher.

And
thanks, Betty, for ruining my perfect day. Even though I didn’t think she
could. I was in such good mood when I woke up. Now, I felt like a little girl
who just had the neighborhood bully steal her
lollie
-pop.
 
I thought of Big Stick and wondered what he
was doing. I wanted to see him again but didn’t want to seem like I wanted to
see him too badly, if that makes any sense at all.

Just
then, the whirlwind that was Jess came busting into the room. She was carrying
books, which was strange for her.

"What’s
with the books?" I said, pointing to the photography book in her hand.

"What?"
she asked, a bit flustered from what must have been a run back here.
"Oh, yeah.
These books.
Hah. I
am taking this photography class because there is this boy I really like in it
and we've been getting a bit hot and heavy."

I
laughed. Of course that is why she was holding the books. She would never take
a class out of an earnest desire to learn. No, it had to be a photography boy.

"So
what's his name?" I asked.

"Oh...
You know...," she said, twirling her hair and smiling.

"No.
I actually don't know."

"Yeah,
that's probably true," she said, smiling again. "We will have to make
a ladies' bargain here.
Quid pro quo."

I
laughed. What a devious little girl. "What are you dating some boy in
Latin class now too?"

Jess
looked confused.

"Never
mind," I said. "Okay, dish and then I'll dish about you know,
Big
Stick."

She
sat down excitedly and gushed for an hour about Mario, a Turkish/Italian boy
who is here taking photography and business classes. He was tall, statuesque,
smelled like olives and cream, and was apparently the best sex Jess ever had.
She had been around the block a few times but one thing I learned with Jess was
that she always had the best sex ever. There was never a time where she just
didn’t get into it or he was a little awkward. Every dude she dated had
apparently perfected the sex act by the age of, oh, I don’t know, fourteen
years old. So by the time they are in college they are masters, looking for
Jess to confirm their talents.

Mario
had taken her out on a picnic the other day, where they then screwed like it
was a conjugal visit. Then he took her to see his favorite movie 'The Great Dictator',
where they then screwed like a prison couple on a conjugal visit. She just came
back from photography class with him where they were partnered up in the dark
room and they screwed like they were on a conjugal visit.

"So
I take it Mario is a pretty good plumber," I said, winking at Jess.

Jess
laughed, then remembered to throw a pillow at me and laughed some more.

"So
how’s Mr. Big Stick's plunging skills?" she asked.

"I
don't know how he is yet," I said. "Also, remember, even if it does
happen, I still won't have any idea whether he is good or bad, right?"

Jess
nodded thoughtfully.
"Touché, virgin, touché."

"Thanks
Jess. But yeah, we had a movie date last night where I kicked his ass in pool,
then we watched a movie and ate sushi," I said.

"Which
movie did you watch?" Jess asked.

"Star
Trek II: The Wrath of Kane," I admitted. Jess snorted and cracked open a
pop from the fridge, handing me one.

“That’s
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, not Kane. Don’t make that mistake in front of
him,” she warned, winking at me over the top of her pop can.

"But
then, when we kissed, it was amazing," I said. "It didn't even matter
what was on the television and I suspect that he put the movie on so that he
wouldn’t have to worry about missing anything. He already knew how it ended and
so he could take care of a little…Business…With me.” I blushed slightly.

"
Oooh
," Jess said. "So, was it just a few kisses?
Heavy face sucking?
Did he get to admire your assets?"

"It
was a good half hour of kissing, and yeah, I let him admire my assets, but
nothing further than that."

"No
fun!" Jess said and threw another pillow at me. I swatted it away.

"The
anticipation is half the fun!" I said, trying to make it real. "But
what if I am not moving things fast enough for him? I mean, how do I know if he
will want me afterwards? My lady parts have been screaming for attention...
For too long."

"Relax,"
Jess said. "If there is anything that guys cannot be helped to be tempted
into, it’s fucking a virgin."

"I
don't want that to be why he wants me," I said. "This virgin thing is
getting in the way of me having a normal relationship with someone. I should
never have told him so early… I’m so freaking awkward."

"You
told him already?" Jess asked, wide-eyed. "Wow, you're only supposed
to mention that sort of thing when he is about half-way into you. It's called
the Venus Fly Trap,
hahaha
."

I
laughed with her on that one because of her weird laughing sound.

"Why
is it called the Venus Fly Trap?"

"Well,
at that point there is no man in the world who would turn away, even if he is
the nice and stable sort of guy who doesn't like to fuck virgins. He's already
halfway in and that way you can explain to him about the pain that might come
from your first time without him backing out."

Well,
that might have been a more clever way to go about this.

"To
the Venus Fly Trap: Woman's best tactic," I said, raising my can.
 

There
was still so much I needed to know about this elaborate song and dance.

-----------Chapter
13-----------

A
couple nights after our Star Trek date, Jess convinced me to go out – and on a
Thursday no less. I knew it must have made me weird, but I still had this thing
about going out on nights when I had both work and school in the morning.

Apparently,
according to Jess though, this was something she’d absolutely kill me for if I
missed. There were a few local bands playing at some place downtown and it was
going to be “totally killer.” I pressed Jess further on just what type of
“killer” bands were going to be there.