“Given everything I learned from Alicia and now you, how the hell did you do something so massively stupid? And that’s all it was: you did something without thinking of the consequences. It wasn’t bad, it was stupid.”
Groaning, I roll onto my stomach, burying my face in a pillow. I don’t want to tell him. Only I know I should. “I got drunk, which I never did and have never done again, so I could finally hook up with a guy. There I was a few months from graduating, still a virgin and I felt like a freak. He was the only guy I liked enough to be with, but it didn’t go well. I wasn’t drunk enough or, you know, excited enough and he didn’t listen when I said I didn’t like what he was doing. It was a disaster. I pushed him off and got the hell out of there. I felt like it was a sign to wait until I actually wanted it instead of something to get over with.”
He’s quiet for a long damn time. I can hear him breathing. “Wait, are you a virgin?”
“Uh yeah, I like just said that.” Damn it, it’s happening. I knew it. “I do not get you and your brother’s preoccupation with whether a woman has had sex before. What is that exactly? What’s the big deal? Explain it to me like I’m five.” I’m desperate to keep him talking. If he’s talking, he’s not pulling away. I can hope.
His sigh is loud in my ear. “Do you know how to swim?”
I’m confused. “Yeah. What does that—”
“How did you learn?”
“Alicia took me to Sandusky. The first day there I tried to go into the water on the beach, but there were too many people so we went back to the hotel pool and I learned there.”
“How do you think learning to swim would have gone if Alicia threw you into the deep end?”
Okay, my head is starting to hurt here. “I don’t understand what this has—”
“Answer the question. You had a not so great experience at the beach. You guys walk out to the pool and Alicia pushes you into the deep end. It’s six feet deep and you’re what? Five three, five four?”
“Shitty, okay. I probably would have half drowned and hated her for it.”
“You would also probably have never wanted to go in the water again. Going swimming isn’t something a person has to do in the day to day, it’s something you make an effort to do. If you had a choice you probably wouldn’t want to go near water again. Am I right?”
And now it clicks. I sigh. “It is hardly the same thing.”
“Yes, it is. A woman’s first experience with sex is important. It can create lasting memories which hurt or help throughout their whole life. You said it yourself—you weren’t having a good experience with the guy who stuck his hand up your pussy when you weren’t wet and probably had no idea where the hell your clit was. At least you had the wherewithal to end it. What if you hadn’t, and he forced himself on you?
“Or even worse, you felt guilty and you continued. I’m going to tell you right now, it would have been a miserable experience. And if it was miserable, experience you likely wouldn’t want to do it again, and when you did a part of you would be expecting another bad experience, making you tense and stuck in your head rather than enjoying it. Even if the next guy knew what he was doing and would have made it better.”
Sonofabitch, he’s right. God, he’s annoying. “The first time two people have sex, whether either of them is a virgin or not, there’s a level of trust given of a mutual attempt to please and satisfy the other. When it’s the first time for a woman, there’s a hell of a lot more at stake. Her thoughts and expectations and the way she views herself as a woman can be made or broken by the way her lover introduces her to making love. It’s a huge responsibility, one not to be taken lightly
.”
“So you don’t do virgins?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.
“I never have, that I know of. I wouldn’t enter a relationship with someone who was without careful thought.”
“Are you expecting the woman you marry to be a pure white virgin?”
“Hell no. I’m not a complete asshole. I don’t believe in one set of rules for a man and another for a woman. Why are you so quick to assume the worst of me?”
I freeze. He’s right to sound pissed, it’s not fair. “It’s easier to assume the worst of people. It’s this thing I do to avoid liking people, then ending up disappointed or waiting for them to show their true colors. I’m sorry. My therapist has called me on it more than a few times. I’ll work on it with my new therapist.”
“Hmm, good idea. Goodnight.”
Before I can open my mouth, the call is over. Damn it. That’s it. No more late-night calls from Dante.
***
Dante
I’m on the edge of my bed staring down at my cell phone. Sonofabitch. A virgin. That’s it. That’s all. It’s over. Fuck. Why does it hurt to breathe? No, it’s better this way, over before it began. Not that anything would have happened, could have happened. No more late-night calls, no more hushed confessions and confidences. Maybe this will also mean an end to the aching need. I can hope.
5
Dante