The Mother Road

by Meghan Quinn

  Answering Delaney’s question, I said, “Yes, I’ve started writing it again. I felt like it was time to revisit Fabio and Mayberry.”

  “Please tell me you did not actually name your character Fabio,” Henry said with a snort, while he went to the fridge and pulled out three beers.

  “What’s wrong with Fabio?” I asked, slightly offended. “I will have you know, Fabio was a well to do name in the eighties and nineties for the romance genre. He’s the king of all romance. You just can’t go wrong with a name like that.”

  “Rosie, you know I love you, but I think you need to get your head out of your books for a few hours and realize we’re not living in the eighties and nineties anymore. We’re living in an age of Christian Grey and Jett Colby, dominant men with kinky sides. Stop reading that heaving bosom shit and get your head in the here and now,” Delaney chastised me.

  “There is nothing wrong with a heaving bosom,” I defended, thinking about what I was just writing. What else would bosoms do in the heat of passion? Jiggle? Jiggling reminded me of my Aunt Emily and her Jell-O salad, not two passionate humans rubbing bodies together.

  “There sure is,” Henry said, as he handed Delaney and I each a beer. “When I have a girl writhing under me, I’m not thinking, damn look at her heaving bosom. I’m thinking, shit, her tits are jiggling so damn fast from my thrusts that I’m going to blow it all in a second.” Of course, he would say jiggling.

  “Eck, Henry. You’re so crude,” I responded.

  “Hey, I’m just telling you how a guy thinks, might do you some good.”

  “No, what will do her some good is actually losing her virginity,” Delaney said, while taking a sip of her beer.

  Embarrassment quickly rushed through my body as I awaited Henry’s response; he had no idea of my sexual experience, I kept that to myself…and my loud mouth friend, Delaney.

  “What?!” Henry said while looking at me wide-eyed and almost a little hurt. “You’re a virgin? How did I not know this? How come you didn’t tell me?”

  “Delaney,” I gritted out, feeling completely mortified. Being a virgin wasn’t something I made public, given the fact that I was now twenty-three and only had two kisses under my belt of sexual proactivity.

  “Sorry,” Delaney said with an innocent smile. “It just slipped.”

  I didn’t believe her one bit.

  “You’re seriously a virgin?” Henry asked again, still dumbfounded from the news.

  “Well, if you must know. I am. I just haven’t found the right guy, yet,” I said, while staring down at my beer bottle, starting to feel slightly sorry for myself.

  “I can’t believe that. I’m, I…” Henry stuttered, trying to find the words to express his shock. I didn’t blame him; we told each other everything. I’m surprised he wasn’t madder at me for holding back such vital information.

  “It’s not like I haven’t tried,” I defended. “I just, I don’t know…”

  “You haven’t tried,” Delaney said with a pointed look. “Don’t lie. Marcus and Dwayne don’t count. You barely poked your head out of your books long enough to kiss them on the cheek. You’re living through your characters when you need to be living in real life.”

  “I’m not living in my books; they’re just my friends,” I replied softly. Any serious reader would know what I’m talking about.

  “Don’t say that,” Delaney said, pointing at me. “We talked about this, Rosie. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are not your friends.”

  “Pride and Prejudice is a fine example of literature and romance,” I shot back.

  “You need to get fucked,” Delaney shouted. “You need to drop the books, spread your legs, and get fucked, Rosie. If you have any chance of writing that book of yours, you need to experience the sensations firsthand.”

  Eeep!

  “Ha, firsthand,” Henry chuckled to himself.

  “What does that mean?” I asked confused.

  They both looked at me and shook their heads.

  “Masturbation,” Delaney eluded.

  “Oh, gross. I would never do that.”

  “Wait, hold up,” Henry said, while standing up and pointing his beer bottle at me. “So, not only are you a virgin, but you’re also telling me you’ve never even masturbated?”

  Gulping, I said, “You mean, touching myself?”

  “Damn, Rosie,” Henry said in disbelief. “How come I’ve known you for six years and I’ve never known about your sex life, or lack thereof?”

  “Maybe because you were too busy banging your way through the English department,” I said in a snide tone, starting to get irritated at Delaney and Henry ganging up on me.

  “Hey, got good grades, didn’t I?” he smirked.

  “You’re irritating,” I said, while trudging back to my room.

  “Hold it right there, missy,” Delaney said, as she got up and pulled on my arms. “You know I love you, right?” Her voice softened.

  “I thought you did.”

  “Don’t get all salty on us; we’re only trying to understand you. You want to write a romance novel because you want to have a future other than writing about the latest and greatest shit scooper, right?”

  “Yes,” I answered, exasperated. “I also just love the idea of making my own love story, making two people fall in love who’ve been living through such different circumstances. It’s all about the find when it comes to love, the moment when you meet the one person in your life you can’t possibly live without, that was what intrigued me.”

  “Agreed, but you know sex sells, correct?”

  “Yes, I know that firsthand. I like books that have a little friskiness in them.” Although, the books I read were slightly outdated, things still happened in them, things that made my entire body heat up.

  “It’s called sex, Rosie” Delaney corrected. Fucking, fornicating, poking the donut, making milk, smushing.”

  “Porking,” Henry cut in. “Slapping the ham, knocking boots, dick twerking.”

  “Riding the bologna pony, getting some stank on the hang down…”

  Henry cut a look over at Delaney and said, “Getting some stank on the hang down? You’re better than that, Delaney.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and was about to start up again when I said, “I get it. Sex, see I can say it.” Even though it felt like I had cotton in my mouth.

  “Try saying it without developing a light sheen on your upper lip.”

  Instantly, I started wiping at my upper lip, feeling mortified.

  “There was no sheen,” I defended.

  “Oh, yes, there was.”

  I waved my hand in the air, trying to erase the conversation and said, “Just get back to your point before I storm off.”

  “Fine,” Delaney continued. “Sex sells, so if you want to write a book that’s going to turn on all the lady folds around the damn country, then you’re going to have to put yourself out there and experience what it’s like to have an orgasm, to have a man squeeze that hard little nipple of yours, to know what a dick feels like in your hands, in your mouth, in your pussy…”

  “Okay,” I held up my hand. “I get it. I need to have sex. How do you suggest I go about doing that without paying someone on the corner?”

  “Tinder,” Henry suggested.

  Delaney seemed to consider his option for a second, but then shook her head. “Tinder is too aggressive. I think she would wilt under the pressure. She needs to be taken out on a date first, not meet up at the closest motel. We need someone who’s going to take it easy on her.”

  “You’re right,” Henry agreed.

  “What’s Tinder?” I asked, feeling a little curious.

  Smiling brightly, Henry pulled out his phone from his pocket and nodded his head at me to come closer. I sat on the armrest of the couch with him and looked at his phone as he pulled up an app.

  “Tinder is a hookup app. It shows you all the girls or men, in your case, who are in the area and are using Tinder. You can look through th
e different profiles and see if you’re interested in them or not with one swipe of your finger.”

  “Really?” I asked, while looking at his phone in fascination.

  Once the app was open, a picture of a female came up on his phone. She was wearing a bikini and had some of the biggest breasts I had ever seen.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “Is she one of your girls?”

  “No,” he laughed. “But if I swipe saying I like her, and she says the same about me, then it’s a match, and we can communicate with each other through the app…send text messages, possibly hook up.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  “You’re definitely not,” he smiled, while texting on his phone.

  “Are you writing her? What happened to Tasha, your college sweetheart?”

  Sweetheart was far from the truth. Henry had never really had a relationship. The closest thing he ever had that came close to a relationship was Tasha, and they were off and on between all his other random hookups.

  “Tasha is out. She got too clingy, plus, it was a match with this girl, and I’m down for some big jugs.”

  “Ugh, you’re a pig.” I turned to Delaney as Henry laughed and said, “What’s my next option?”

  With a giant smile on her face, Delaney said, “Online dating.”

  “Yes!” Henry fist-pumped the air while finishing up his texting. He grabbed his tablet off of the coffee table, the man had money, and started typing away. “Minglingsingles.com here we come.”

  “Oh, good pick,” Delaney praised. “She won’t get too many creepers on that website.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Henry said, as he started typing away. It seemed like Henry’s displeasure with me not confiding in him had worn off, because he was in full-on Henry helping mode. Typical Henry, it was one of the many reasons why I love him.

  Within minutes, he had a profile up and ready for me to fill out with a picture of me from our graduation. I was wearing a red polka dot dress, my red glasses and black heels, blowing a kiss at the camera.

  “Don’t use that picture,” I said, trying to grab the tablet from him, but he was too quick and spun away. “Guys will get the wrong idea from that picture,” I stated.

  “And what idea would that be?” he asked with a snarky smile.

  “That I’m loose…” the minute the words left my mouth, I realized what I was saying. “Ugh, never mind. Do what you need to do to get me, um...some action.”

  If I was going to do this, if I was going to try to fulfill my dream of writing a romance novel, then I was going to have to start becoming more comfortable with talking about sex…and that started today.

  “That a girl!” Delaney said, while nudging my shoulder. “Before you know it, you’re going to be going at it just like Derk and me.”

  “Yeah, by the way, can you keep the screams to a minimum?” Henry said, while typing away on his tablet, not looking up. “I don’t need a boner over hearing you having sex.”

  “Awww,” Delaney dragged out, while clearly pleased; I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

  “Gross, you get boners from hearing Delaney have sex?”

  He shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. “It just happens. Doesn’t mean I want Delaney, no offense,” he said apologetically. “I’m a guy, I get a boner over side boob…anything can turn me on, really.”

  “Interesting,” I thought to myself. I really needed to start reading more erotic, modern novels because the fluffy stories my mom introduced me to were not teaching me half the stuff I needed to know. I needed a Kindle.

  “Alright, you’re all set. Your username is your email and your password is ‘takemyflower’ all one word.”

  “Clever,” I said sarcastically, as I took the tablet from him and looked over my profile. “What now?”

  “The system will match you up with someone and you can talk online. If you find enough interests, you can start going on dates. Pretty simple,” Henry explained.

  “Do I search for guys?”

  “They will come to you,” Henry laughed. Just relax for now and let things happen.

  “This will be great,” Delaney clapped her hands together. “Make sure to keep a journal of everything you go through, all your feelings, because you’re going to want to refer back to your experiences. Oooh, this is like an experiment,” Delaney said with a little too much excitement in her voice.

  “Glad I can entertain you, but if you two don’t mind, I think I’m going to get back to my writing.”

  Henry cringed and said, “Hold off on the briar patch for now.”

  “Do we need to go over lady-scaping?” Delaney asked with a brow raised.

  “No, I’ve got that handled ever since freshman year when you called me out in the gym.” Another disservice my mother did to me.

  “Well, don’t be sporting a bush…”

  “Delaney, please!” I pleaded, while Henry laughed.

  “Ah, Rosie, I love you,” he said, while pulling me into his chest and kissing me on the head. “Those traditional parents of yours really did a number on you. Do they still sleep in separate beds?”

  I nodded as I thought about my parents who were stuck in the fifties. They had separate beds still, believed in the man providing for the family and the women tending to the home, as well as not ever speaking of intercourse; hence my disconnect with the whole concept. Although, my mom was very fond of matchmaking.

  The only reason I have a fascination with the genre of books I read was because of my mom and her secret novels she kept under her bed. They used words like “sex” to describe a lady’s genitals and “sword” for a man’s penis. Those novels were my only window to the crazy world of sex.

  Feeling energized and apprehensive at the same time, I said good night to my roommates and took off for my room, hoping someone on the website would find me attractive enough to take out to dinner. Even though I was inexperienced with the opposite sex, I still craved the feel of a relationship, of a man’s touch, of a kiss. It was an aspect of my life that I was sorely missing, and Delaney and Henry were right, maybe once I experienced the real deal, I would be able to put all my emotions into my writing and actually make a name for myself, other than Cat Crap Extraordinaire.