by Margot Wood
“Elliot’s new fuck boy,” Micah says and I smack his arm.
“He is not my fuck boy,” I say. “Well, not yet anyways.”
Brad leans in and squints at the screen. “Wow, he’s quite the handsome fella,” Brad says and for some unknown reason I get so embarrassed.
“Think of how cute your babies would be,” Lucy babbles and I bury my face in a pillow.
“What’s the verdict, Elliot?” Micah pesters again. “Are you going out with him again or no?”
“I don’t know!” I whine into my pillow.
“You do you,” Micah says like a warning. “But this guy is a bit of a catch and if you don’t take him up on the offer, someone else will, and quick. He is easily the best-looking straight guy on campus,” he says and then looks over at Brad. “No offense.”
Brad holds his hands up. “None taken! Micah’s right, Elliot. The man is a ten.”
“What’s holding you back?” Lucy chimes in.
I peel myself off the pillow. “The kiss,” I say. “It was that damn kiss! Everything was going great until that sloppyass kiss.”
“Are you really going to end a relationship over one bad kiss?” Lucy asks and I immediately freak out. I know I told Rose I wanted to date date Nico, but I can already feel myself backsliding toward old habits.
“Relationship? It was just one date!”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the kiss was bad because you’re overthinking it,” Brad suggests, and we all look at him in surprise. Brad the Bro is dropping nuggets of emotional wisdom?? “I get that you’re all Netflix and chill instead of Hulu and commit,” Brad continues, “so maybe it’s been a while for you and you forgot that first dates can be pretty awkward. No doubt he was nervous too.”
“Huh,” I say thoughtfully as I consider Brad’s shockingly insightful feedback. Maybe Brad is right. Maybe I am psyching myself out and the kiss was bad because we were nervous, and not due to a lack of chemistry. I remind myself of the reasons for giving a relationship a try and I start to perk up. “You’re right, Brad. I am overthinking it. I should go out with Nico again.”
“Yay!” Lucy cheers.
“And just think,” Micah starts to say. “If the kiss was that bad, it means it can only go up from there.”
“It can’t get any worse, right?” I ask.
“Right!” Micah exclaims excitedly. I reach out my hand for a high five but it’s Brad who obliges me and slaps it so hard I wince.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I got caught up in the moment.”
* * *
1 Meh, or not. She doesn’t need to know she was right.
2 Tender Chicken Mode has been reactivated.
3 Whoa. How have I never noticed what a tasty little snack Brad is?
CHAPTER 16
Let me tell you about the very first time someone went down on me.1
It happened in November of my junior year of high school. My boyfriend—yes, that boyfriend, the one who cheated on me—and I had been together about two months and we were at his house after school one afternoon. No one was home and we were making out on the couch in the living room. I can’t quite recall what led up to the moment in question, but let’s just say one minute I was fiddling with his Jigglypuffs and the next, he was munching on my Squirtle. As it was happening, I was so stupendously nervous that I couldn’t steady my breathing and all the muscles in my hands froze. I couldn’t bend my fingers—AT ALL. I’m not even exaggerating for comedic effect; I was essentially paralyzed from the elbow out to my fingers. It looked like I was about to do the robot dance but my wiring short-circuited and I powered down mid-dance. Eventually, I had to ask him to help pull my pants back on because my hands were stuck in the same position as Barbie’s. Anyhoo, I bring this flashback up because if you compare that experience to what is currently happening, THIS ONE IS SO MUCH WORSE.2
It’s been a month—that’s right, a whole month—since my first date with Nico. Recalling what my Love and Eroticism teacher said and on the advice of my friends, I decided that perhaps the loneliness I was experiencing at the tail end of Project Tender Chicken was from a lack of intimacy, not desire. So this time around, I’ve gone in the opposite direction and done my best to embrace intimacy. Nico and I have hung out, nonstop, for an entire birth control blister pack and I feel like I’ve gotten to know him really, really well. But tonight is a test. It’s the first time we will see each other naked . . . and it is NOT going well.
So here I am, lying on my back in Nico’s bed on the tenth floor while he goes spelunking in my lady cave. At least I’m not nervous. No robot hands this time, folks—but it’s worse than that. You see, what I’m currently experiencing is 100 percent pure, raw, unadulterated boredom. I am so bored I have had complete thoughts about a wide variety of topics in the twenty minutes since he’s been rummaging around down there, including, but not limited to:
• We really should have put music on.
• Should I be making more noise? Should he?
• I hate that this is called eating out. It sounds so cannibalistic.
• Which movie won last year’s Best Picture Oscar?
• Reminder to self: Call Izzy on Sunday. It’s her birthday.
• Where should I put my hands? On his head? Behind my head?
• OH GOD, WE MADE EYE CONTACT! NOPE NOPE NOPE
• When was the last time I had to do long division by hand?
• Reminder to self: Pick up face wash the next time I’m at CVS.
• My clitoris is two inches higher than where he thinks it is.
• I still really don’t know what to do with my hands right now.
• Is one of his suitemates singing “Let It Go” from Frozen?
• Has anyone ever mixed a ramen packet with mac and cheese?
• I’m hungry.
THE ELLIOT MCHUGH INTERACTIVE EXPERIENCE: THE POST-COITAL EDITION
Which of the following should I do next?
OPTION A: Should I stay, be honest, and tell him I didn’t come?
OPTION B: Or should I fake an orgasm and wrap this up?
If you selected option B, please proceed to the next paragraph. If you selected option A, please proceed to the next footnote.3
I give it all I’ve got and put on the performance of a lifetime. And when I’ve successfully convinced Nico that I have climaxed, he pops his head up from under his blue sheets and gives me this sweet, goofy smile. He shimmies up from under the covers and flops down next to me, tucking his hands behind his head.
“How was that?” He asks, and I cannot for the life of me understand why some people always want a report card as soon as they’re done. I look over at him and he really looks so happy and proud of himself. I don’t have the heart to tell him I faked it, so I do what I always do when I’m in an uncomfortable situation: I lie.
“It was great!” Please don’t ask me anymore questions, I silently beg him. A stiff silence ensues and I don’t know what the protocol is for moments like this. What is the polite length of time one must lie there next to the guy who just failed at getting you off? Two minutes? Ten minutes? An hour? The last thing I want to be is rude, so I figure twenty minutes is a decent length of time to convince someone they’ve just rocked my world.
. . .
Has it been twenty minutes yet?
. . .
Nico isn’t saying anything, so I don’t say anything, and we both just lie here, not saying anything. I look up and stare at the ceiling and start counting the tiles. Thirty-four. There are thirty-four tiles in Nico’s room. I wonder if mine has the same number of tiles? I feel like mine has a lot more since it’s bigger than this single.
. . . . . . . .
Has it been twenty minutes yet?
. . . . . . . .
This is cool. This is totally normal. I think I’ll continue to just lie here, not saying anything.
. . . . . . . .
Has it been twenty minutes yet?
. . . . . . . .<
br />
Good god, I can’t take this anymore. I gotta get out of here, like, now. I turn to Nico and throw my hands up to my face.
“Ohmygod, I just remembered something!4 I have a script due in the morning and I haven’t even started it!5 But this was so much fun, I really had a great time. We should do it again!”6 Before he has the chance to respond, I whip the covers off my naked body, leap out of bed, and snatch my clothes off the floor. I am pulling my sweatshirt on backward when he calls to me from the bed.
“Yeah, babe, no worries. I think I’m free tomorrow night if you want to go see a movie and—”
“Oh, um, I’d love to, but tomorrow night is laundry night and you know how I love my laundry time, but I’ll text you. Okaythanksbyeeee!” I yank jeans over my ass as fast as possible and leap over his gym bag to get to the door. I give him a little wave goodbye as I close the door to his single. I tiptoe out of his suite and escape without waking any of Nico’s suitemates. Thank god the hall is empty. I am not at all prepared to deal with prying eyes and judgy looks right now. I lean my back against the wall and take a deep breath as I try to get my shit together.
I don’t understand what is happening with Nico. Outside the bedroom, there is so much heat and chemistry between us, but as soon as we start doing anything sexual, it’s the equivalent to the game-over sound effect in Super Mario Bros. We’re dating. I even introduced him as my boyfriend once! But for fuck’s sake, that time that dude Anders almost slipped it into my butt was a hotter experience than this!
And over on the other side of my brain, I find myself thinking, Sure, Nico can’t find my clit with Google Maps and a magnifying glass, but he gave it his all and that has to count for something, right? So why do I feel so—blah—about him? I came to college so amped to get it on and hook up and have a good time but that was unfulfilling and now, when I actually make an effort to be in a real relationship—that doesn’t work either. Why is nothing working?!? I DON’T UNDERSTAND.
I hear the door to the girl’s bathroom swing open and a girl I’ve never seen before steps out looking like she has an interesting story to tell. I bet, to her, I look the same. We nod to each other but don’t say anything—a silent acknowledgment that we are both members of The Sisterhood of the Walk of Shame. She disappears around the corner and that’s my signal to get the hell out of here and back down to the third circle of hell. I decide to take the stairs because a) I’m lazy and they’re closer than the elevators and b) I could use the walk to try to clear my head. The Little Building is tall and the stairs spiral, so it’s extremely easy to get dizzy, which is why students rarely take this method of vertical travel between floors—so it’s a great place to go when you want to be alone. And since Nico lives on the tenth floor and I’m on the third, you can do the math to figure out exactly how many floors it will take for me to regret my I’ll take the stairs! It’ll be so good for me! decision.
I am somewhere between the fifth and third floors, resting on the steps while I reevaluate my whole anti-exercise position, when I hear a door open. Someone has entered the stairwell below me. I stay silent, hoping they’ll just go on or go away, but I hear no movement. Whoever is in here with me is trying to listen for signs of life too. After a few tense moments of ear-ringing silence, I hear the very faint sound of someone clicking on a vape pen and inhaling. The unmistakable scent of marijuana wafts up and now I know exactly what I need in this moment. I don’t need mindfulness or head-clearing walks or sex-positive psychotherapy. I need to get high. I step quietly down the stairs so I can see who it is and when I peek over the railing, I see Rose.
Rose, my RA.
Rose, my RA who always writes up anyone who vapes inside the building . . . is vaping inside the building. I cannot let a delicious moment like this pass me by. I lean against the railing just above and smugly call down to her. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? I do believe I am witnessing several violations of the Emerson student handbook, Ms. Knightley.”
Rose coughs out white vapor. “Fuck! Elliot, you scared me.”
“Ha! Now you know what it feels like.”
To her credit, Rose does put on a show of trying to fan the smell away and hide the pen but she sighs and gives up almost as quickly. I hold my hand down to her. She looks up, her eyes narrowing as she studies me for a moment.
“Ah, fuck it,” she says and then hands me the vape pen. I take a deep pull. I exhale as I descend the last few steps and take a seat on the one above her. We pass the pen back and forth a few times and once I start feeling buzzed I notice she’s wearing pinstripe bike shorts, a T-shirt that reads ARE CLOTHES MODERn? and six-inch red stilettos.
“Do you ever just wear sweatpants?”
“Never,” she says, glancing down at her clothes. “What are you doing here so late?” she asks.
“What if I told you I was up late studying?”
“I’d say you’re full of shit.”
“Is it still a walk of shame if it’s not morning?”
She looks down at her watch. “Technically, it’s three in the morning.”
“Well then, technically, you caught me in the midst of a classic walk of shame. And why might you be in the stairwell, disobeying the rules?” I take another hit from the pen and pass it back to her.
Rose takes a long drag and as she exhales she says, “Got caught in a long argument with Monica and I needed to blow off some steam.” I think about asking if she’d like to talk about this, but I get my answer when she quickly changes the subject. “Plus, I figured since I’m still awake I might as well call my parents.”
“At three in the morning?”
“They recently did one of those DNA tests and decided to go on six week vacation exploring ‘the origins of their ancestry,’” she says using air quotes. “So far they’ve been to Scotland, France, and Italy, and the next two weeks they’ll be in Tunisia and Greece.”
“I did one of those DNA tests and it came back a picture of a loaf of white bread.” Rose laughs and it’s nice. I like making her laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Tell your parents I say hi.” I make a move to stand up but she stops me.
“No, please, stay. I’ll call them tomorrow.” I smile and sit back down. She takes another long drag and asks, “So who had the pleasure of your company this evening?”
“Nico,” I tell her and she coughs the vapor out.
“That’s still going on?”
“Not after tonight it isn’t,” I tell her.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I don’t get it. He’s a nice guy, he’s obviously very good-looking, and I’m attracted to him, but every time we do anything sexual, it’s awful.” I reach for the pen again and she hands it to me. “It also doesn’t help that he’s downright awful at giving head.”
Rose laughs. “What makes you so sure it’s him?”
“Rose, he is so freaking bad. He’s like a bottom feeder trying to suck off microscopic bits of food from my ocean floor.” I take one last pull and hand the pen back to her. She turns it off and rests it on her lap.
“Did you say anything to him? Give him instructions?”
“No . . . ,” I confess.
“Well then it’s not his fault!”
“Ugh!!!!!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “It’s hard to explain and I don’t fully understand why, but I can’t seem to fully enjoy sex when I’m emotionally intimate with someone.”
“How so?” she asks gently.
I pause and take a moment to gather my words. “Last semester, I hooked up with this girl, Eva. It was her first time with a woman and well, she did not know what she was doing. And tonight, Nico went down on me for the first time and he did not know what he was doing. But with Eva, I was able to enjoy myself, I had no problem at all giving instructions, telling her exactly what to do to get me off. But when Nico was down there, I couldn’t get comfortable! I couldn’t come, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I needed. How can I have sex with two people wh
o are equally clueless but be comfortable with one and not the other? When I sleep with someone who knows me . . . it’s like I’m afraid to be myself.” I lean my head back against the wall and look up at the winding stairs above me. “I suck at this shit. I should just go back to casual hook-ups.”
“So that’s it, huh?” Rose asks. “You’re giving up on commitment because you had one bad night?”
“It’s not just Nico!” I finally tell her. “I tried this in high school too and it was the same shit. I was dating this guy, pretty seriously actually, and when we finally had sex, I froze. We tried it again a few more times and it never got any better and every time I didn’t come, the pressure built even more until it wasn’t that fun and he ended up cheating on me. It really fucking sucked. I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”
Rose gives me a sympathetic look. “You got hurt. I know what that feels like.”
“It’s not just about being hurt.” I look away from Rose and down at my hands. “I don’t know what it is, but the second I’m with someone and they start trying to open me up, I freak out. It feels like the walls are closing in and I can’t escape.”
Rose sits up straighter. “Being in a relationship doesn’t mean you are shackled and locked down. Commitment is being free but choosing to stay.”
“I’m constantly afraid of being a disappointment again,” I say quietly.
“Stop letting your past predict your future,” Rose demands, and I glance up. “One bad relationship doesn’t mean all your relationships will be bad. If you want to spend your life bouncing from person to person, never letting anyone get to know the real you, then do it. There is nothing wrong with that, if that’s what makes you happy. But it sounds like you tried that—”
“And it left me wanting more,” I say.
“Exactly,” she says, relaxing her posture again. “And as far as the sex goes, it’s just as much about you as it is about the person you’re with. You have to choose to open up, no one else will do that for you.”