THE VIRTUOUS CON

by Maren Foster

  “You two hungry?” Jake asked.

  “We ate at the dorm, but thanks.”

  A big group of Theta sophomores that always hung around walked in through the open front door. The self-anointed leader of their group, Jamie, barged past us and yelled to the guys strewn around the living room, “Let’s get this party started!” Behind her, six transfers, who were renting rooms in the frat house over the summer and were already posturing to be pledges the next fall, struggled to haul three kegs of beer up the short staircase to the front porch. One of the guys walked over and turned on an old hi-fi system, plugged in his iPod and selected a playlist that I later saw was called “clothes off!” It was a little aggressive for the hour, but Jamie and the other sophomores obliged and danced toward the middle of the room. Within half an hour the house was full and what was already a hot, humid evening, became an unbearably sweaty dance party. As I edged my way toward the front door, Jake’s friend appeared.

  “Where’re you off to so quickly?” he asked.

  “It’s hot. I need to get out of here.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  I shook my head and he followed me out.

  We sat on the front steps of the old house, the bass thumped aggressively behind us. He took a tin of strong mints out of his pocket and offered me one before popping a couple into his mouth.

  “What are you studying?” he asked.

  “Communications with a minor in French.”

  “What about you?”

  “Business. I graduate next week.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ll probably move to New York City. It’s the best place to raise capital in my industry.”

  “I love New York. Maybe we’ll meet again someday in New York!”

  “Maybe,” he said, and I cringed as I realized how uncool it was that it sounded like I was already planning a future life that included him.

  “I mean, I have no idea where I’ll be three years from now, but New York sounds cool,” I said.

  Nate smiled and leaned toward me. He didn’t hesitate and kissed my lips, passionately, pushing his tongue inside my mouth. His mouth was warm, wet, and tasted sharply of mint. He held me tight and for a moment, I gave in and enjoyed the decisiveness of it. I liked how certain he was of himself. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth began to turn me on and I pulled away.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s just, I’m waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?” He seemed genuinely confused.

  “For the right person.”

  “The right person for what?”

  Oh, God, how awkward, I thought.

  “I’m a virgin,” I said quietly.

  From only inches away he stared at me blankly. I was surprised to not immediately hear one of the moronic lines I had grown so accustomed to: that’s the way I like ‘em; I can solve that problem for you right now; and the worst I’d ever heard, “Hy-men!” That was the moment I usually bolted, quite literally.

  Instead he said, “I didn’t think we were having sex on the porch right now.”

  Oh God, of course not! I’m such an idiot. “No, that’s not what I meant,” I said.

  “Uh, what did you mean?” he said. “I shouldn’t kiss you? Are you Mormon or something?”

  “No. You can kiss me. Please do,” I added. “I just don’t want to have sex. I thought you should know before things got too heavy, that’s all.”

  “Hmmm, okay.”

  Oh my God, what a dork! He must think I’m such a freak now.

  In the silence that followed I felt the need to explain myself. “It’s just, I’m sort of waiting to be in love first. You know?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  “I didn’t mean to make that awkward. I was having fun,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s fine,” he said.

  The Put-up

  Saturday, August 22, 2015

  Manhattan

  I texted Adam, hoping he might take me on another romantic walk around New York City, but he responded that he was having a few friends over to watch a college preseason football game. I showed up anyhow with a six pack of cheap beer and a bag of chips, and squeezed in next to Adam on the couch. As the game apparently became more exciting, evidenced by the silence between plays and how everyone else in the room had slowly inched closer and closer to the t.v., I picked up Adam’s phone and opened Facebook.

  Nate’s most recent post was a link to an article about the challenges and frustrations of online dating, particularly for people of faith. The article highlighted the rise of faith-based online dating platforms and discussed the pros and cons of each. That’s it! If we match on a dating site he’ll never suspect it’s me. I haven’t had much luck at the gym anyhow. It’s time for a new approach.

  Back at my apartment, I logged on to the leading Christian dating website. “Love is Patient. Love is Kind. Find Love Here.” It said on the landing page in a scrawling gold script. I created an account.

  Wyn L., 24

  New York, NY

  Evangelical, Marketing

  Tell us about you: I selected activities which I knew, based on my initial Facebook stalking, would be best bets for a match.

  Sports and Fitness: I selected golf, weight training, and sailing (not that I’d ever done any of those activities, but I could be aspirational. Besides, there were a few photos of him on Instagram, on a very nice looking yacht in Upper Bay).

  Activities: This was the most difficult, as nothing seemed quite right. I knew that bridge, activism, and meditation were dead wrong but none of the other options seemed to fit either. I picked entertaining (there were a couple photos of him amidst impressive looking table spreads, surrounded by magazine-ready guests. Below one photo he’d boasted about his original recipe for a rub for short ribs, of course sourced locally from some farm in upstate New York, and the undisputed success of the evening). I selected stock trading and motorcycle riding to round out my list.

  Arts and Entertainment: Easy. Horror movies (according to Facebook his favorite movie was Saw), mysteries and thrillers beat out antiquing, poetry, and Origami. Seriously, origami is an option?

  I specified that I was seeking men between the ages of 24 to 26, within 10 miles of New York, NY. That should narrow it down a little bit. From a long list of denominations I selected Evangelical and Catholic. That should cover the possible spectrum. I put on the small gold cross that Adam’s mother had given me for my sixteenth birthday. It hung just above my cleavage. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my faux silk shirt, held my cell phone up, looked toward the light on the ceiling, and smiled. The lighting wasn’t great, but the photo wasn’t bad. I applied a soft filter and admired the result. I still had some make-up on from work, but not too much. It didn’t look like I was trying too hard, which was important. I looked relaxed but put together. Below my neckline the small golden cross was understated, but reflected the light slightly. Perfect. I hit upload.

  I clicked on the thumbnail of my profile picture in the top corner. It was live. I read through the details in the About Me section and admired ‘Wyn L.’ There were already some suggested matches. I scrolled through the first ten or fifteen profiles that were already in my queue, but his wasn’t among them.

  I woke up early the next morning: 23 unread emails. I clicked on the mail icon. In just twelve hours I’d been inundated by Christian dating spam.

  Someone’s checking you out! – Wow, look at you! No really, click here to see who’s been viewing your profile.

  Someone just winked at you! – RunNYC just winked at you. Log in to return the gesture.

  You’ve got a message! – SeoulMate sent you a message. Log in and read your messages – love may be a click away!

  The list continued, full of abbreviated names and bad monikers. I logged in and scanned the profiles looking for his image. Bust. There were a few of the same guys from the day before so I swiped to the right to remove them. I started swiping from th
e top of the list downward, leaving one or two handsome guys at the top of the queue. As I did so, it replenished with a new, never ending list of names and pictures.

  There were personalized messages from a few guys. Two were particularly good looking. I clicked a link to read a message and received a prompt, “Upgrade Your Account”. Ugh! $25 a month. Never mind. I put the phone down and got ready for work.

  Later in the week, back at the apartment after work, my roommates tried to convince me to go out to some bar in Tribeca with them, but all I could think about was the story that was beginning to take shape in my mind. The details that kept coming back to me, flooding my consciousness with the painful minutiae that had been repressed, packed away for the past three years so that I could function, so that I had the strength to move forward day by day, to set my plan in motion. I told my roommates that I didn’t feel well and was staying in. Once they left, I grabbed my laptop and began to write.

  Friday, June 8, 2012

  Inside the frat house, Nate led me toward the faded, yellow kitchen, pushing past the line of twenty-somethings holding red solo cups, and pulling me back to a dimly lit corner. Nearly every girl we passed stared at him and then at me. Are they wondering why he’s with me? Are they jealous? I wondered. He opened a cabinet door that I would have needed a stool to reach, and brought down a bottle of whiskey. He held it out to me first. Hmmm, what is a gentleman!

  The buzz from the beer had almost worn off, so I thought, what the heck? and tipped the bottle back. The whiskey burned as it went down. It was exciting to be taking shots with the best looking guy at the party. Nate took a long swig and handed the bottle back to me. I took a small sip and gave it back to him. A doey-eyed freshman standing next to him eyed the bottle. He shook his head. She pouted her lips and he shook his head again as if to say, get lost. She disappeared. I was in awe of the effect he had on women. Why does he want me? He could have any girl here. He took another swig and put the bottle back.

  “Let’s dance,” he said and grabbed my hand.

  We pushed our way back past the bathroom line which now snaked all the way down the hallway to the kitchen. The bass was thumping in the living room, so loud I was surprised the cops hadn’t shown up yet. Nate led me to the middle of the dance floor and we began moving back and forth to the beat. He faced me and leaned forward as he danced, smiling. There was no mistaking that he was into me, and I could feel people watching us. I caught the eye of one of my would-be-suitors who had prematurely professed his love for me during fall quarter. I smiled and looked back at my dance partner, excited by the prospect of real love. I smiled and made eyes at him as I moved closer and then further away teasing him. Making a game of it, I turned my back to him and danced away as if rejecting him. He followed me, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled me back to the middle of the dance floor, leaned down and kissed me passionately. He spun me around and pulled me close to him, my back against his chest. As we moved back and forth to the beat I could feel his hard on grow against my lower back. Whoa Buddy!

  I glanced at my watch: quarter past ten, it was still early but I was getting a little tired and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He was clearly turned on. I looked at him, fanned my face dramatically, and motioned toward the kitchen.

  “Hot!” I yelled over the bass.

  “You are!” he yelled back.

  I smiled and then pushed my way back to the kitchen. He followed me.

  Out on the back deck I watched as he went to fetch the bottle of whiskey. As I waited, I couldn’t help daydreaming about a future in which I would be waiting for him to come home from work, to a big house in the suburbs, a young girl with blonde pigtails running across the room to greet him. He would lift her up above his head and plant a kiss on her forehead.

  Nate held the whiskey out to me, and I shook my head. He took a few more swigs from the bottle, which by now looked suspiciously empty.

  “So you’re a virgin?”

  “Yeah, why?” I turned toward him.

  “Because that just makes me want you even more,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Well, you’ll just have to fall madly in love and marry me then, won’t you?”

  “I guess I will,” he said and pulled me toward him. He leaned down and kissed me again. It was only the third time, but it felt wonderfully familiar already. I looked up and smiled and he smiled back.

  “Come on, let’s go,” he said and took my hand, leading me back into the house.

  On our way back toward the dance floor he pushed open one of the doors in the long hallway and pulled me into a room. It was a tiny room with a single bed, a dresser, a closet door, and one window. He shut the door behind him and pulled me close. He kissed me again, massaging my tongue and biting my lip gently.

  “You’re incredible,” he said.

  I looked at him eagerly and smiled.

  “You’re incredible,” I repeated, believing every syllable. Is this what love feels like? I was so excited I could feel my heart beating with wild anticipation.

  Nate put his hands on my butt and held me tight. His hard-on beat in time with the rhythmic pounding of his heart.

  He began kissing my neck and then reached down and grabbed the hem of my dress. Really, slow down. This is what I meant earlier. I brushed his hand away and pushed gently against his chest.

  “Playing hard to get. I love it. Look how much it turns me on.” He took my hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants.

  I shook my head.

  “I need to go,” I said, and took a step toward the door.

  Nate quickly picked up a belt that was lying on the bed, grabbed my arm as I tried to pull away, and wrapped the belt tightly around my wrists. His strength surprised me.

  “Stop. This isn’t sexy,” I said. “Besides, I told you, I’m a virgin. I’m waiting.”

  He looked me in the eyes and a large grin crossed his face. “I know. That will make it even better,” he said.

  There was something about the way he said it. His intent was unmistakable.

  Oh my God. Scream. I opened my mouth but before I could make any noise he shoved a pair of balled-up socks into my mouth. He spun me around and pushed me down onto the bed. I tried to move my legs in a way that would restore me to an upright position, but he pushed me down and forced my legs apart. He ripped off my underwear, and then I heard him spit as he pushed his hard dick in between my legs.

  The first pain was the unmistakable tearing as he pushed himself into my dry vagina. With every clumsy thrust he tried to get deeper and with every penetration my body tightened up a little more. I began to feel the thumping of my heartbeat in my torn up vagina, syncing with the thumping bass blasting two walls away, punctuated by the rhythmic shocks of pain he inflicted. I buried my face in the bed.

  Think! Where is that pepper spray when I finally need it? It was in my purse tucked behind a chair in the living room. Shit.

  Hadn’t I heard before that if you were being raped you should pee on your rapist because that would turn them off and get them off of you? Worth a try. I tried to pee but he had picked up his pace, and the few seconds that passed between each thrust didn’t give me enough time to relax, my body was instinctively rigid as I braced for each sequential assault. Holy shit. I realized that I could do nothing to stop the pain and then it hit me; what was really happening. This asshole, who I had just met and who had probably never been told no before, was violently stealing my virginity because he was bigger and stronger than me. I tightened up even more, every muscle in my body contracted in defiance of what was happening. Finally I felt something I had only heard about before. His rhythm began to slow and he came inside my body. I felt him convulse a few times before he finally pulled out.

  I figured the worst was over. Nate grabbed my arms and rolled me onto my side.

  “Not bad for your first time.”

  Motherfucker. I felt him lay down on the bed next to me.

  “Being tied up really suits
you.”

  You fucking asshole. You’ll pay for this someday.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Eventually, I’ll untie you and you’ll go running out of here screaming. You’ll go home and tell everyone you know that I raped you. Maybe you’re even thinking that you’ll go to the police. But you won’t, and here’s why.”

  Nate got up and walked over to the dresser which was about the height of the bed. He rubbed his finger over the mouse pad and the screen lit up. On the screen was the reverse image of my face, my eyes empty and hollow.

  “If you even think about telling anyone about what just happened, this video will be all over the internet with your smiling face, a porn-star soundtrack, and your full name. Do you want everyone to think you’re a slut?” he asked rhetorically as he tapped at the keyboard a few times.

  “Think about your family, your future. You think people want to hire a dirty slut, who gets off by being tied up?” He shook his head. “They won’t be able to take you seriously. Every time you open your mouth, they will hear moans of pleasure. You don’t want that,” he said, and walked back over to the bed.