The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  Leaning in, Delaney propped her chin on her hand and said, “So Derk has this thing with his balls. He loves them to be touched, sucked, licked, what have you, but his balls are huge.”

  “Ugh, gross, Delaney,” I said while pulling away.

  “What? They’re big, Rosie. You have to know this, not all dicks and balls are the same. Some are uneven, some are crooked, some are small but wide, some are thin and long. They’re all special in their own way. Derk just so happened to be born with balls of a fucking Greek god, that’s if Greek god’s had massive balls. Have you seen balls before?”

  “Yes,” I said defensively.

  “Okay, well picture those balls in your head.”

  The only real-life balls I’d seen were Alejandro’s and we know they were covered by his man garden, so I tried to picture what they were underneath all the weeds.

  “Okay.” I faked that, because all I could envision was his pubic hairs . . . everywhere.

  “Well triple the size of those balls, no, quadruple.”

  “Umm . . . okay,” I said, still not seeing it. Delaney noticed, so she huffed and looked around our kitchen.

  “Oh I know.” She went to the fridge and started rummaging around until she pulled out a grapefruit and then grabbed a banana off the counter. She put them together and held them in front of me.

  “This, Rosie, this is what I’m talking about. His balls are like this grapefruit, just enormous.”

  Studying the grapefruit, I shook my head. There was no way Derk had balls that big. Where the hell did he put them?

  “I know what you’re thinking, he wears briefs, straight up. He tried boxers once, and I had never seen such bad chafing in my entire life. Briefs are like a protective sling for his balls, keeping them high and tight to his body so he’s able to walk around without it being noticeable. The first time I saw his balls, I’m pretty sure I blacked out for a second. When he took his pants off in front of me, I watched as his balls dropped heavily from his briefs and dangled between his legs like a damn kettlebell. It was the sexiest most intriguing thing I’d ever seen. There’s something to say about a man with a giant set of nuts.”

  “Is that right? What’s that?”

  “The amount of cum that spews out of them when they orgasm could take down the Titanic. It’s always a mess with us.”

  “A mess? What? What do you mean a mess?”

  “Rosie, when a guy comes and he’s not wearing a condom, where do you think it all goes?”

  “In your vagina,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “And once it’s in your vagina, where does it go from there?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Don’t your uterine walls soak it up? You know, like lotion?”

  “Are you saying jiz is the vagina’s form of lotion?”

  I shrugged. “Isn’t it?”

  “No,” Delaney said while laughing. “Oh my God, Rosie. First of all, vaginas don’t need lotion, second of all what goes in, must come out.”

  “So what are you saying? Does it . . . drip out of you?”

  “Uh, yeah. Haven’t you seen me run from my bedroom to the bathroom wearing only a bathrobe?”

  “Yeah, but I thought you just had to pee.”

  “No. It’s called the man-milk shuffle. You kegel the shit out of your vagina, keep your legs closed as tight as possible, don’t even dare to breathe, as you shuffle to the bathroom and then flop on the toilet to let everything fall out.”

  My hand flew to my mouth as I racked my brain for such a scene in any of the books I’d read.

  Nothing.

  Nothing about the man-milk shuffle.

  Disturbed, I asked, “It just falls out?”

  Nodding her head and taking a giant bite out of the peeled banana in her hand, she said, “Yup, just falls right out. The worst is when you get all sexy in the bathroom of a bar or something like that and you don’t have enough time for gravity to work its magic. Then you find yourself back out on the dance floor, dancing your life away and all of a sudden, you get a wave of man-milk falling right into your underwear . . .”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “Nope, this was never told to me. Where is this information in sex-ed? Where is it in life?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of taboo, Rosie. No one wants to talk about how jiz falls out of vaginas.”

  “Obviously!” I planted my head in my hands. “The more I find out about this whole sex thing, the more I want to avoid it. It’s supposed to hurt, even though books describe it as a pinch, you’re apparently supposed to bleed everywhere—looking forward to that—and you also have to worry about cum falling out of you?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have to worry about that at first, because you should be using a condom, plus, Derk is the exception since he has such huge balls. With another guy with normal balls, you won’t have as much cream to deal with.”

  “Don’t call it cream. Jesus.”

  Laughing, Delaney finished off her banana. “Still, it won’t be bad, Rosie. I promise. Once you get past the initial awkwardness of it all, you will actually love it. There is just something about sex that is so primal, so absolutely fan-fucking-tastic that you have to experience, that you need in your life.”

  “So when writing my book, do I include the whole cum falling out of the vagina thing?”

  “No, God, Rosie. First of all, from the sounds of your book, you need to have the people practicing safe sex because that’s being responsible and then second, do you really think writing about the waterfall of baby gravy is going to be something readers want to read about?”

  “You did not just call it baby gravy.”

  “I did, because that’s what Derk has. It’s so thick—”

  “Stop, please, just stop. There’s a line, Delaney, and hearing about the texture of your boyfriend’s cum is way past that line.”

  “Why are we talking about my cum?” Derk asked with a goofy grin on his face and his hair sticking out in all different directions, most likely from Delaney’s fingers.

  “I was trying to tell her about what made you scream like a girl last night, but it turned into talking about your huge balls.”

  “Babe, you know I only keep the knowledge of my melon balls between us.”

  “Apparently not,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t I have the most gorgeous fiancée?” Derk asked while wrapping his arms around Delaney and kissing the side of her head.

  “You do. I’m really happy for the both of you. Good job on the ring too, Derk.”

  “Thanks. It was worth it, given the blowy I got last night.”

  “Most expensive blow job of your life,” Delaney teased as she patted his five o’clock shadow.

  “What are you two up to today?” I asked just as my phone rang. “Hold that thought.”

  I looked at my phone and saw Lance’s number pop up. Gosh, I had almost forgot about him.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Rosie? How are you this morning?”

  “Good, please don’t tell me you’re calling me to cancel our date.” It was a lie.

  Blowing out a long breath, he answered, “I am.”

  My stomach sank. Now that I thought about it, I could have really used the date with Lance today not only to forget last night’s mistake, but also to get my mind off Henry. Like he said, he wasn’t home, and he wasn’t answering his phone. He wanted his space. Actually, he just didn’t want to be anywhere near me. That stings.

  “But I still want to see you today. I just need to change our plans.”

  That helped. “Why’s that?”

  “I’m kind of an idiot and broke my wrist last night, so rowing a boat is out of the question.”

  “Oh no, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, more embarrassed than anything.”

  “Why? How did you break it?”

  “I can’t tell you. The way I see it is if I tell you before our date, you might not want to hang out, so if you come see me, I’ll tell you how I bro
ke my wrist.”

  “You plead a hard bargain, but I’ll take it. What are the plans now?”

  “Would you want to come over here and hang out? Maybe play a game? I have some painkillers running through my system and don’t really want to be navigating through the city right now.”

  “That’s fine with me. Text me your address and I’ll bring lunch as well.”

  “Now what kind of date would I be if I let you do that? We can order takeout. Just get your sweet butt here around noon, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Looking forward to seeing you, Rosie.”

  “You too,” I said shyly as I hung up.

  “Oh, who was that?” Delaney cooed.

  “My date for today, Lance. Remember him, the guy I split my pants in front of?”

  “The cat photographer,” Derk said.

  “He doesn’t just take pictures of cats; he only did that a couple of times,” I replied in an annoyed tone.

  “Still . . . meow,” Derk said, raising his “pretend” claw at me.

  “I hate you.” I laughed. Changing the subject, I asked, “What’s the newly engaged couple going to do today?”

  “Probably fuck all day long,” Derk said with a hopeful look.

  “No,” Delaney said. “We having lunch with our parents to celebrate, but we can fuck up until then.”

  “Really? Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Go get naked”—Delaney slapped his ass—“and I’ll be right in.”

  “Best fiancée, ever.”

  We watched as Derk leapt in the air and clicked his heels together while taking his shirt off. Delaney shook her head at him but her eyes spoke of love. I was so happy for them. They really were perfect together and deserved each other.

  Before the ugly green monster of jealousy roared to life, I shook the thoughts out of my head and twirled my phone on the counter.

  “What’s going on with you and Henry?” Delaney asked just as Derk clicked her bedroom door shut.

  “W-what are you talking about?” I stuttered.

  The last thing I wanted was to get Delaney involved in the melodrama between Henry and me. I didn’t want her to have to find the need to fix things, because knowing Delaney, that was exactly what she’d want to do.

  “Henry called me last night when Derk and I were in the middle of getting busy, so I didn’t answer, but he left me a voicemail. He was drunk off his ass, mumbling into the phone about you and not giving him a chance.”

  Crap.

  My heart churned from the thought of Henry getting wasted and having a semi-heart-to-heart with Delaney. First, I didn’t like that my actions led him to have such a night and second, I hated that he called Delaney. I was always his drunk call, the one he talked to when he was upset, but now that I was the issue, I couldn’t be the solution.

  “Yeah, you don’t need to get in the middle of it. We’re just having a few communication issues at the moment,” I answered, trying to be as politically correct as possible.

  “I don’t buy it.” She saw right through me. “Derk said some strange stuff was happening between you two, and he also said he heard Henry ask you to go swing dancing last night.”

  “Derk needs to mind his own business,” I mumbled.

  “He’s a nosy little bitch, you know that, especially when he’s uncomfortable. Since he was proposing last night, waiting for me, of course he was going to listen to your conversation. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said, growing irritated. “Just drop it, Delaney.”

  “Is he trying to get with you? I told you he’s a cherry chaser.”

  “He is not.” I said. “He wouldn’t throw our friendship away just because he likes to sleep with virgins, which isn’t the truth anyway.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “No,” I replied. “How would I go about having that conversation with him? There really isn’t a smooth segue into that topic.”

  “You’re right about that. I would just ask him.”

  “I’m not going to ask him, because it’s irrelevant. We are experiencing a disagreement right now.”

  “Okay.” Delaney eyed me suspiciously. “I’m going to tell you this. I don’t like it when my friends aren’t talking.”

  “We’re talking,” I lied.

  “Yeah, if you were talking, Henry would have been dialing your phone number last night and not mine. Don’t let whatever is going on between you two get in the way of your friendship, because what you two share is perfect. You don’t want to lose that.”

  Duh.

  Delaney wished me luck on my date and walked off to her bedroom where I heard her squeal the minute she shut the door. Living with two very sexual beings was difficult, especially when they were on a high from getting engaged.

  Since it was still early in the morning. I decided to tackle some pages in my book and listened to music to drown out the sounds coming from Delaney’s room.

  “You’ve never looked prettier,” Brian said to Vanessa, who was wearing a bright yellow sundress that highlighted her blonde locks.

  “Thank you, Brian,” Vanessa said shyly, wondering if this was truly the turning point in her relationship with her friend.

  Secretly, she had been harboring feelings for Brian ever since she met him during freshman orientation, but she was just too nervous to do anything about her feelings. Instead, she became great friends with him, all the time, watching him go out with girl after girl, slowly chipping away at her heart with each passing date.

  She wondered why she was never one of those girls, strutting around on his arm. Why she wasn’t the one who was able to hold his hand and walk through the lecture hall while he told jokes in her ear that only they could hear.

  What she wouldn’t do to be that girl, but now that she was faced with her dreams becoming a reality, she started second-guessing the foundation of her friendship she’d built with Brian.

  She wasn’t second-guessing the stability of it. No, she was second-guessing her feelings toward Brian. She had a best friend that would be by her side through thick and thin; did she really want to forfeit that for the possibility of love?

  As she looked into Brian’s eyes, she was at a standstill. Should she proceed? Should she take the leap?

  “Damn,” I mumbled as I pulled away and looked at my book.

  I rubbed my hands over my face and stepped away from my computer. I wanted to write an ode to my friendship with Henry, but what I didn’t want to do was write an autobiography . . . and sadly, that’s what was happening.

  Instead of writing, I shut my laptop and tucked myself back in bed. A small tear fell down my cheek as I thought about Henry and what was happening. I was losing him, and I was terrified that the only way to keep him from falling out of my life would be to toss him my heart as a lifesaver.

  But I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover if he broke it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Worm with a Broken Neck

  I knocked on Lance’s door and waited patiently for him to open it. I know he said we could order out, but I decided to bring cookies at least. I thought maybe the sugar would make his wrist feel better, at least that’s what helped me get over an injury when I was younger. Lots and lots of sugar.

  After a few locks moving around, Lance opened the door and smiled at me. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a deep green T-shirt, which made him look very casual but yummy.

  “Hey Rosie.”

  “Hi, Lance, how’s the arm?” I asked, nodding toward his fantastic neon-orange cast.

  “It’s doing better now that you’re here.”

  “Hmm, corny, but nice,” I teased. “Awesome choice of color by the way. I didn’t know they allowed adults to pick cool colors like that.”

  “I had to suck my thumb and whine like a two-year-old to get it, but hey, I look cool now.”

  “Aw, no self-respect was lost whatsoever.”

  “Never.” He laughed. “Co
me in.”

  One whole side of his apartment was exposed brick with shallow metal shelves coming out of them that held old-fashioned cameras. The rest of his apartment was chic, modern, and welcoming. Given the color palette of his place as well as the knickknacks and well-placed black and white framed photos, he definitely knew how to decorate.

  “Wow, I love your place.” I looked at a black and white picture of the Brooklyn Bridge. “This is exquisite, did you take it?”

  “I did,” he said while coming up behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist and turned me around.

  When I met his eyes, I saw lust. His head dipped toward mine and his hands cupped my face. Lightly, he nipped on my lips until I deepened his nips into a kiss that had us both breathing heavily once he pulled away.

  “God, why did I wait so long for that?” He licked his lips, as if he were tasting me all over again. “I ordered some deli sandwiches, if that’s okay?”

  “Sounds good to me. I brought some cookies for you.” He thanked me and put them on the kitchen counter, eyeing them carefully, like he wanted one right then.

  Leaving him to his cookie staring, I sat on his couch as he did the same and turned toward him. “So, tell me how you hurt your wrist. I’m here, I want the details.”

  He linked my hand with his and said, “You can’t leave though, once I tell you.”

  “I can’t make any promises.” I shrugged.

  “Then I’m not telling you.”

  “Then I’m afraid I have to go.” I started to get up, but he pulled me back down, this time a lot closer. He grabbed my legs and swung them over his so I was practically sitting on his lap.

  “You’re not going anywhere now that I have you here.”

  Having Lance to myself was so much better than our first one. It's quieter, more . . . us.

  “All right, just tell me what happened, then I can judge you after, is that okay?”

  “I guess I have to take what I can get.”

  “Dish it,” I said while getting comfortable.

  Playing with his hair, he looked off and started telling me his story. “I was at a photo shoot for some stupid makeup products the other day. They are the worst kind of photo shoots because you have to place everything properly and take pictures of still products. The shoots pay well, but they are boring as hell, so to liven them up, I play music for me and the other person the magazine sends along. I was hanging with this twenty-year-old intern—”