Virgin (19 page)

I looked at myself in the mirror and held on to the edges of the porcelain sink.

“Ellie,” I said out loud. “Today you are going to become a woman.”

It was Sunday, May 19, 2013. I was ready to lose my virginity and enter into the next stage of my adult life. Britney Spears was singing “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman,” and never had her words rung so true to me. I was an African tribal boy, about to kill my first lion. I was the Jewish girl I’d always wanted to be, about to have my bat mitzvah complete with a cringe retro theme. My 1992 Vintage Virginity had mellowed beautifully with age and I was about to let Jack pop my cork.

I was plucked to within an inch of my life. The Brazilian had miraculously managed to last—with the help of my Tweezermans and a few hours of vigorous plucking. My outfit was a masterpiece. I had finally decided to embrace myself and stop trying to be someone I wasn’t. I was wearing my trusty black skinny jeans with a new pair of heeled boots. They were simple black suede, born out of the Mrs. Kolstakis emergency cash fund, and made me feel sexy. My top was simple too. Black again, because it had worked for Sandy in
Grease
, and it slid easily over my head so we wouldn’t get stuck undressing each other. My hair was freshly washed, bouncing along behind me as I walked, and my lips were freshly anointed with pink Vaseline. I didn’t even need a self–pep talk in the mirror to be able to halfheartedly admit I looked good. I knew I did.

I smiled to myself, realizing how far I’d come in the past few weeks. I, Ellie Kolstakis, no longer hated looking in the mirror. I was finally leaving behind my teenage angst and blossoming into womanhood.

I bounded down the street, high on life. There was nothing that could make this evening better, other than an emergency girl chat with Lara. But she was still being weird and hadn’t texted so I was going to:

1. Get on with my life
   
2. Be grateful for the few friends who still spoke to me, and . . .
   
3. Have the most important night of my adult life with Jack
   

He was sitting in the pub, waiting for me. He was wearing simple dark gray jeans, a white T-shirt and a navy hoody. I breathed a huge sigh of relief that was heavily interlaced with lust. When I walked in, his face lit up and he stood to give me a hug.

“Ellie, hey,” he said, kissing me. It was a brief peck but to me it was the height of sophistication. I was finally one of those girls who was “seeing someone” and was greeted with kisses. On the lips. In public.

I sat down, glowing. I picked up the glass of wine he had already bought for me. It was a far cry from his counting out the change on our first date.
He must really be falling for me.
I sipped it gratefully and listened as he launched into an account of his week.

“I’ve been looking forward to this so much,” he announced as he sank into the worn couch. “I’m so fucking sick of my job. They’re all such pretentious wankers sometimes and they go on and on about being ‘cutting edge’ and ‘avant garde,’ but at the end of the day, they conform just as much as the next company.”

“As much as you?” I offered, grinning at him so he knew I was kidding.

“Ha ha, Ellie,” he said, nudging me playfully. “If you think I’m pretentious, you should have a look at these guys . . .”

“Oh no, I couldn’t bear it,” I said, wincing in feigned pain. “It’s bad enough spending time with
one
of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know you love hanging out with me. No one else is as infuriating or charming as I am.”

I burst out laughing. “Mate, could you be any more arrogant or deluded?” Ugh, why did I have to call him “mate”? Talk about putting him in the friend zone.

He laughed. “We’re all deluded, Ellie. Haven’t you read any Camus?”

“Um, sure?” I said hopefully, batting my lashes at him.

“Ellie, are you fluttering your eyelids at me?” he asked curiously.

“Oh my God, no,” I shrieked, humiliated that he’d caught me out. Boys weren’t meant to comment on the lash-flutter. They were barely meant to acknowledge it. Maybe I was doing it wrong.

“Okay.” He grinned. “Clearly I was wrong. Although I could have sworn there was some major fluttering.”

I bit my bottom lip while a flush spread over my cheeks. He smiled at me and leaned in to give me another kiss. I kissed him back, surprised, and tried to calm my nerves. I was ridiculously excited, but also terrified. I just wanted our little pub session to be over so I could stop flirting so appallingly and get home so he could bang me.

He seemed to read my mind. “So, how do you feel about gulping our drinks down and heading back to yours?” I jolted. I didn’t think it would sound so seedy out loud. He saw my expression and quickly added, “That definitely came out wrong. Honestly, I have a surprise for you that I want to show you. Oh man, that came out wrong too. I promise I’m not a total creep and there is a very wholesome reason why I want to go back to yours.” He grinned. “And also some not very wholesome reasons . . .”

I smiled. “Who knew you were so romantic?” I asked, wondering what he could have on him that he wanted to show me.

He gave me another kiss on the lips. “I’m so romantic I’m going to pay for a black cab for us to get all the way there.”

I looked at him in mock astonishment. “Oh my God, you’re going to pay for us to go all the way up the road? You’re surprising me more and more with everything you say.”

We finished our drinks, flirting outrageously, before we finally left. We tried to get a cab, but all the drivers refused when I explained I lived a thirty-second drive up the road. We ended up walking back to mine, laughing all the way. I nervously let him in and we went upstairs. I couldn’t remember the last time my heart had pounded so much and wished we had stayed longer in the pub. I was still way too sober to lose my virginity.

When we arrived, we sat down on my bed and I asked him, “So, what’s this surprise you have for me?”

“You don’t waste much time, do you?” he said, opening his canvas bag and pulling out a bottle of wine. “I’ve brought some Beaujolais for us, and . . .”

I leaned in curiously as he pulled out a pile of papers. I wrinkled my face in confusion as he handed them to me. “Um, you brought me some crumpled sheets?” I asked. They were covered with words in a typewriter font.

“My writing,” he said, looking very pleased with himself. “I finally finished my short stories and really want your opinion on them. You’re the one person I really trust, and I can’t wait to hear your opinion on them.”

I was touched. “Jack, that’s so sweet. I’ll read them right now.”

“I think they can wait till tomorrow.” He grinned. “Now, let’s get some glasses and start with the wine.”

Smiling, I grabbed a couple of clean mugs and poured us both generous portions. I hoped it wasn’t obvious I still had knots in my stomach. This was going to be the night I lost my virginity. I took a deep breath and remembered the time I passed my driving test. I had been a bag of nerves but I had done it the third time round, and I could do it this time too. If I could steer a wheel, I could let someone penetrate me. Jack put his empty mug down and started kissing me again. This was it; we were heading up to fifth gear and going all the way.

I snogged him slowly, trying to enjoy every second of the most important evening of my life. He was lying on top of me on the bed, kissing me and moving his hands around my body. We sat up together, our bodies moving in sync. He pulled the top over my head and I congratulated myself on choosing such appropriate shag-wear. I pulled his T-shirt over his head, mirroring him. Then he undid my bra and I realized my mirroring actions couldn’t go any further.

We each unbuckled our own trousers and pulled them off. I was in only my black lace pants now. Jack pulled off his boxers, and his erect penis poked out at me, proud of its naked pinkness.

He leaned back and I felt his eyes take in my totally naked body. It was the first time he was seeing me completely starkers. Worried, I looked down at my semi-Hitler to see how it was doing under his intense scrutiny. I’d tried to maintain it, whilst letting it grow a bit so it would be a bit thicker and more strip-like, but the lines weren’t as straight as when Yasmin had done them. I looked up at him to see if he’d noticed. He was staring at my semi-Hitler as though he was solving an algebra problem.

“What’s up?” I asked in a strained voice whilst desperately not wanting to know.

“Oh nothing,” he said. “It’s just I didn’t expect you to have pubic hair like that.”

Was he fucking kidding me?

Why did this ALWAYS happen to me?! And WHAT WAS WRONG WITH MY SEMI-HITLER?

“Um, what?” My voice came out strangled and distorted.

“I don’t know, it’s just I’ve always thought of you as natural. I didn’t think you’d be into all . . . that.” He gestured at my vagina.

I stared at him in total disbelief. “It’s called a
Brazilian
,” I retorted. “Well, a Playboy Brazilian. But that’s not the point. Everyone has one.”

“I didn’t have you down as the kind of girl who did what everyone else did.”

Was he motherfucking kidding me?! How had I ended up with the one guy in London who preferred girls au naturel? I sighed in frustration and semi-humiliation, wondering if a guy would ever see my naked body and not feel the need to comment on my pubic situation.

Jack didn’t notice that my cheeks were no longer flushed with lust but with shame. He slipped his hand into the middle of the Hitler as though nothing had happened. I gasped and forgot my eternal pubic dilemma. He leaned over and carried on kissing me as his fingers slid around my vagina.

It wasn’t as good as it was when I did it alone, but it was enough to make me so damp I wondered if I would drip onto the bedspread. I ran my fingers across his back, exploring the little moles and avoiding the patch of hair at the bottom of his back that spread onto his bum. While his fingers were getting familiar with my female orb, I moved my hand onto his penis and started gently rubbing it. He groaned in pleasure and I glowed with pride. I was getting quite good at this.

We were sitting up and kissing, my back against the headboard. He started to slide down the bed. I froze in total fear. He was going to go down on me. He spread my legs apart and held my lips open. Then he put his head in there, right inside my vagina, with his nose smelling everything, and started licking.

I was too stressed to enjoy it. He was more up close with my bits than I ever would be. This was the most intimate a person had ever been with me, and I hated it. He licked around and on my clitoris, but the slow movements of his tongue were nothing like the fast vibrations of the bullet I was used to.

This was not going to make me come. I prayed to God he wasn’t planning on staying down there till I came. I was still lying in silence. Should I respond? Should I make sounds?

“Mmmm,” I muttered. What the hell was that? I sounded like I’d just had a spoonful of crème brûlée.

I couldn’t handle this. I pulled him up by his shoulders, and he stopped in confusion. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you not enjoying it?”

“Oh no, of course I am!” I lied. “It’s amazing. I just thought you . . . might not want to stay down there for too long . . .”

“No, I love licking girls out.” His tone was deadpan as he stared into my eyes. Bollocks.

“I want to make you come,” he continued. “Then I want to be inside you and come in you.”

I gulped. This was intense. He had a whole agenda worked out.

“Cool,” I said eventually. I tried to smile. He grinned and went back down.

“Ahh, that’s amazing,” I said. God, this was so embarrassing. I felt like a third-rate actress. I felt like a blond porn star. I felt like a virgin who was going to have to fake an orgasm.

“Mmm,” I groaned. “Ohhh, that’s so good.”

He seemed excited by my encouragement because he licked faster, like an eager puppy with a bone. I wrinkled my face in disgust. I tried to remember the scene in
When Harry Met Sally
where Meg Ryan faked an orgasm. I could totally do this.

“Ohhh yes, yes! That’s it, keep going,” I said, whilst wondering how the hell I had managed to get into this situation. “Ohh, ohhhh yes!” my voice crescendoed. Then I stopped and tried to simulate the vibration-tension thing my body did when I made myself orgasm. I breathed heavily and gently pushed him away with my toes, so he was forced to move away.

“That was so good.” I sighed dramatically. He smiled at me, looking as chuffed as I probably had when I’d successfully given him head.

He leaned over and started kissing me. Oh my God, ewww! I could taste my vaginal juices. I wanted to gag. I pulled away and leaned over his shoulder, hugging him while I tried to spit subtly and scrape my teeth with my tongue. He leaned towards me and kept kissing.

I took a deep breath and lay down. He lay on top of me, his body squashing mine. Then he stopped. “I guess I’d better find a condom,” he panted.

“Oh, I have one over—” I started to say, but he had already gotten his wallet and was pulling one out. Great. I’d gone through all that humiliation in the pharmacy for nothing.

He opened it and started unrolling it over his penis. And there went my chance of putting sex ed into practice. Oh well, at least this was finally it. IT WAS HAPPENING.