"No." I pushed against his chest. "I need to see your test results."
He stared down at me.
Minutes seemed to pass.
“Jerry, snap out of it," I said, hoping to bring him out of his dreamlike state. I grabbed for my dress to pull it down. "Get up."
He closed his eyes. His mouth was open. His hips were still moving as if he were inside me.
"I said get up." I wriggled, trying to get out from under his body. "I'm sorry. This isn't going to happen."
"Wait," he swallowed hard, almost gulping every word. His hands let go of my clothes. He rolled to the side. "Give me a second."
I sat up quickly and straightened my clothes. I buttoned my sweater—all the way up to my neck.
This is my fault. I've crushed another person. What am I doing? I have no business dating. It's obvious if there's no sex I can't see anyone. They're all ready and I'm not.
I waited quietly, hoping he was done and we could go home.
Once more, he took several deep breaths.
“Okay, I'm ready. I’ve gotta pack for my next round of baseball games anyway.” He stood up. Was the excuse he offered to help soothe my feelings . . . or was it for his ego?
"How long this time?"
“They start again tomorrow and go through the week. Can I ask if we were tested, would we still be lying on the blanket?”
“Do you have protection?” I challenged.
“Yes.”
Do you automatically bring it with you these days?
“I’m not sure,” I confessed.
“Why? What can I do to change your mind?”
He turned away from me to zip his pants.
“I want it to be good for us.” I shook the blanket a few times, trying to get out the remaining burrs that stuck from the dry grass.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He walked to his car bowlegged.
My body tried to relax. I wasn't sure if I wanted intimacy this way with Jerry—or with any man this soon. The way he was ready, so forceful, so aggressive, I knew nothing would have mattered except his relief. His only concern was pulling it out of his pants. That wasn't foreplay.
On the other hand, he had stopped. He listened. He asked me questions after-the-fact, which . . . I supposed was better than not talking at all. The more I watched him walk, the more I held back the urge to laugh. It wasn't funny. It was how I reacted when I was nervous. I wondered if "it" was in the way of zipping up his pants.
“It would be great for you, no doubt, but what would you do to pleasure me?” I was as bold as I could be. "In fact, you seemed more than ready to complete the act without stimulating me at all. What was your plan back there?"
“To move inside your vagina, sliding through your wet—”
“Jerry," I caught his attention before he went too deeply into another vision. "It’s not about the vagina for women.” I confidently repeated part of my sister's education about sex and pleasure. "Not like you just described."
We drove home in silence.
I could feel him thinking about my answer.
When we got to my house, he turned off his car.
"Tell me how it is for you, then." He came back with his own brave response.
“It's about being slow, stimulating my clitoris, kissing me, slowly stroking me—"
"You've done it before," he said disgustedly.
"No," I put my hand on his forearm. "I’m telling you what my sister told me. It's also the way I bring myself there. I have to create the mood in my head, and I do it by reading a sexy story or I watch something . . . I'm um, also in the middle of everything.” I was totally embarrassed to admit I wasn't safe for sex without protection. “You know what I mean?”
“You’re fertile.” His eyes darkened, and the response from my feminine body sent a quivering pulse between my legs. Well that definitely helped to get me ready.
“Jerry, I want to know, I mean, when it comes to sex, you seemed to know um, something, like . . . you had condoms, so have you, well, do you—"
“Do I—what do you mean? Have I done it before? Do I know how to get there?”
“Of course you do—I know every boy can stick it in and come. I’m asking do you know how to please me? My sister says I need to be sure we’re protected, get tested, have the right birth control, and that I’m supposed to guide you on my body."
"Guide me as in . . . take me in your hands?" He raised his brows.
"As in take your hands in mine and make sure I have an orgasm." I pursed my lips and let a breath out slowly so I didn't hyperventilate. "I don’t want to be left wanting more, while I see a smile on your face and then two minutes later you fall asleep or zip up your pants. Have you done it before or talked with an adult about sex?”
“No to both.”
“Are you sure?” I watched his face carefully as he answered me.
“You doubt me.”
“Terrie told me you’ve been flirting with her and that you’ve also made moves on Sabrina. I know Terrie wants to go out with you. I don’t blame her . . . or you for that matter. I want you to be honest, though. I have no right asking you to wait for me, and I don't think you should, because I'm pretty confused about sex, but I want to know if you're—"
“I'll wait for you,” he interrupted.
You didn’t exactly answer my question.
“Okay, well, don’t you think we should . . . I don’t know, ask someone who’s done it, so both of us have a good experience the first time?" I flattened my hands on the dashboard of his car. "I'd at least like to have some idea of what we're doing. We've talked about it, but neither of us has really researched what good sex is—at least, it doesn’t seem like it.”
“No, I haven't,” he admitted. "You're right, it's a good idea."
“I bookmarked some good stuff online. I'll text you the links. I want to know how to please you, too. Does that sound stupid?”
“No, not stupid, but sometimes you overwhelm me by the way you talk. None of my buddies have girlfriends who talk with them like this. You make me feel like I'm a kid. You're intimidating, Nicky. You're great, but . . . intimidating.”
“I'm not trying to be that way or make you feel awkward talking with me, it's just that everyone’s too embarrassed to discuss it. Sex is something . . . well, it should be talked about in every way possible, don't you think?"
He nodded.
"I don't know about yours, but my girlfriends just seem to plunge in and learn as they go. I don’t want to open my legs and we're done. I want to be completely honest, so that each of us gets what we want. I know it’s hard to talk about. Believe me, I have to force myself to say every word out loud to you. I'm lucky to have a sister who took the time to care.”
“I've talked with my friends and—"
“Oh God, no,” I interrupted. “Please don’t rely on a bunch of eighteen-year-old guys—and jocks at that. Chances are if they’re having sex it’s only good for them.”
“What do your girlfriends say?” He seemed lost.
“The kissing’s good, some masturbating is good, but the act itself? Not so much. They say their boyfriend never takes the time to make sure they're ready and that it’s a race instead of an intimate journey. They say the oral sex is awful, too. All the focus is on the vagina instead of . . . you know."
"Your little button?" Desire colored his voice.
“Yeah." I looked away.
"Are any of your girlfriends happy with sex?"
"Colleen. She’s dating a twenty-one-year-old and pretty damn happy," I giggled. "My other friends, they say their boyfriend just wants to . . .”
“Spill the cream?” he grinned.
“Oh, that's . . .” I put my hands over my eyes to cover them. “God, Jerry. Anyway, are you comfortable with your dad?"
"Hell no," he said emphatically. "That asshole will probably punch me just for asking to talk with him about sex. I'll ask my coach or pastor."
"I'd like to give your father a piece of my
mind," I admitted.
"Don't. I'll be the one who gets the punishment if you do that."
"You could go to the clinic, too. Please just, whoever you talk with, make it with someone older than us—much older—please.”
“Okay, I will. You know, I’ve waited a long time to have this talk. Well, not exactly like this. I wish we were still at the ocean.”
“We both need to show our test results to each other. And condoms; we need those. I guess you already have them, but I need to look into them, too. Oh, and a dental dam.”
“Wow, you, um . . . What the hell is a dam? You sound pretty educated for a virgin. Are you really?"
“Yes. Geez, Jerry. You already asked me that. I saw my first the other day. My sister has one and she showed me. She told me quite a bit, actually. A dental dam protects us from getting herpes when we have oral sex. Don’t you want oral sex?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“I do, too. Why would you assume I wouldn’t want your mouth on me like you want mine on you?”
“I don't. I didn't.” A knot formed between his brows. "I don't know."
“I want to talk it all through so there aren’t any big surprises for either of us." I reached for his hand and held it. "I know we'll have some surprises, but if we can at least try to prepare by talking to people and reading about it . . . send me a text if you find something interesting while you’re away playing baseball.”
“Where the hell do you get a dental dam?" he asked.
"I didn't ask," I confessed. "I guess the clinic?"
"No, I know," Jerry kidded. "You go to your dentist and say, ‘Hey doc, I’m planning on having oral sex Friday. Can you spare a dental dam or two?" He threw his head back in hysterics.
I joined him.
"I guess we'll research that, too." I reached for the door handle.
“My parents are going with me this trip; otherwise, I’d invite you to come with me. Seeing you in the stands cheering for me would be awesome. Could you imagine us in a motel room? I don’t know if I’d get to any games.”
He had a happy twinkle in his eyes.
“We can’t have that,” I waived my index finger in a warning. “Not good for your baseball career.”
“Won’t it be great going to college together?” He played with a strand of my hair.
I nodded, but didn't intend to be committed to one boy when we went to college. I had made a silent covenant to break out from all my restraints. Meeting new people was high on my list of priorities. The box in which I'd kept myself was beginning to choke me. Fully intending to shed all my reservations about sex, come hell or high water, I was going to experiment.
I thought so, anyway.
Well wasn't I?
“Jerry, do you think I’m fat?”
“What? God, no! What kind of question is that? You’re built like the freaking Hoover Dam."
"Sabrina and Terry are so much thinner." I shook my head. "Any boy would go for them and their little skirts and short tops."
"You're crazy." His hands cradled the back of my neck. "You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know I’m crazy. But I've always been embarrassed about my belly. It's round and sticks out. I can't change it. Most of the other girls, their bellies are flat and go in, but I have this bump. Plus, my hips and ass are big. When I in LA with Alex, I about died when she told me she was having her staff dress me. I didn’t think they’d have anything that fit. Those models are so thin, you know?”
“Guess they made a trip to the big girls’ shop,” he joked.
“Shut up! They probably did!”
“You got nothin’ to worry about girl. I like your belly and butt. I especially love your boobs. You’re a triple threat—the killer Bs."
“Okay, good. I guess. Is that a backhanded compliment?" I frowned, but then smiled quickly so he knew I was teasing him. "I’ll see you in a few days. Good luck with your baseball games.”
We kissed good night and I got out of the car.
I quickly turned so I wouldn't have to watch as he drove away. Instead, I focused on his return.
Small steps. Baby steps.
As I went upstairs to my room, I thought about the words that
Alex had said: Boys who are your peers will allow you to go slow, and you’ll be able to control things just as you like.
I wanted to go slow, but if I was going to take the dive in the deep end of the pool, I also intended to get the strokes I needed.
A director in my own play—that's what I intended to be.
I vowed not to be a woman who was like a dying fish when it came to sex, afraid to speak up—like my mother and her two-minute man.
No one was going to push me.
Only when I was ready for sex and intimacy would I give in—but when would that day come for me?
Was it possible for me to fully embrace the love or a man—or a friend—and allow myself to be so vulnerable that I let old fears fall away?
Could I fall boldly into the depths of love and intimacy, finally transitioning into the brilliance of joy?
Chapter 15
Dressing Up
The Goliaths came back into town on a Monday, during the last week of June. I was dressing for my workout when my cell phone rang.
Ryan.
His name blared at me as if it was in neon and panic interrupted my initial exuberance.
Oh no, what do I say? Should I ignore his call? I should tell him our timing isn’t right. It’s best to go our separate ways. I don't want to, but yes it's what I should do. I should. I . . .
Ten days had passed since my wonderful day at Yountville and the night Ryan had stayed over. We'd slept in my bed together, only hugging, kissing, and caressing each other.
The day he left? I felt anything was possible with him.
After LA and after Jerry?
I needed time.
I needed college.
I needed focus.
Why didn’t I call him? Do I really want to say goodbye?
Ashamed, I knew I had taken a child’s way out, once again hiding under the dining room table as if I were still that eight-year-old girl, cowering from my fears.
Damn it, Nicky. Crawl out of there!
Had I also taken advantage of his trust? Had he mine?
We promised to be a good boy and girl for each other. Did I break that promise? Did he on the night I couldn't reach him? Was it right to expect either of us to keep that promise? What about kissing Jerry at the coast? I never committed to Ryan, but I asked him not to party. Is that what I'd done?
Paralyzed, I stared at my phone, certain his reason for calling was to pick up his jacket and say goodbye forever.
I should let him go. He's too sophisticated for me. You've already decided you wanted to be free. So what if he says goodbye?
My cell phone faded to the last ring.
A second before it went to voice mail, I picked up.
“Hi, Ryan.”
“Nicky!”
“How are you?” So far, we’re very polite. When are you going to drop the hammer? “You guys had a good road trip.” I said the words quickly, trying to dodge his oncoming goodbye.
“You weren’t too busy to watch?” He'd stung me purposefully.
Ooh, sarcasm. Guess I deserved that.
“I managed to sneak in a couple of games,” I responded nervously.
“Are you free tonight?"
Silence.
"I’d like to get together and talk.” His tone was even and steady.
“Sure." My stomach dropped. What happened to telling him you aren't right for each other? "That would be great.”
He's obviously the kind of guy who is gracious enough to break up in person.
“Good, I’d like to take you to dinner," he said smoothly. "I can’t wait to see your pretty smile again.”
Well, at least you're being gentle about this.
“What should I wear?” I might have to pad my bedroom walls. Dare I let myself f
eel this excited?
“Something nice—not formal, but not jeans.” I heard a phone ringing in the background. "I've got to get this. I'll be at your house around six-thirty."
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” His voice jumped up a note, as if excitement pushed through him. “See you in a few hours.”
Oh, no . . . he didn’t say good-bye. He’s breaking it off. I knew it. What did I expect? Of course, he is. He said me missed my smile. He wouldn't . . . no. It's better not to hope.
After Ryan had spent an innocent night in my bedroom, the feelings between us had grown sweet and sticky. Like making saltwater taffy, we pulled and stretched each other, trying to form the new flavor of a relationship, and learn how to be intimate without scaring the hell out of each other.
My fear of letting people get too close had probably blown any chance for the two of us. I mourned the thought of never again having a deep conversation with him or the feel of his kiss.
I’m giving the jock back his jacket.
My heart banged with the constant beat of panic when I thought of not having Ryan as a friend.
What have I done?
I felt sick as I envisioned him at the ballpark flirting and seeking out another woman with whom he’d share his dreams. Just picturing him taking her hand and kissing it made me teary.
Something casual, but nice—what does that mean?
I’d worn the one casual dress I had for my date with Jerry. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to wear it for whatever evening this was going to be with Ryan and the Valentino dress I’d worn in Los Angeles was probably too much.
“Jenise!” I knocked on her door.
“For shit’s sake, come in!” she yelled.
“I need you.” I stood in her doorway. “I have a last minute date with Ryan tonight and I don’t have anything to wear. Please help?”
“What do you mean, last minute?” Her eyes shone with mischief. I was sure I saw a twinkle in them.
“He called me out of the blue and asked me out.”
“And you want me to help you how?” she asked coyly.
Jenise had enrolled in summer school and was trying to handle three courses normally taken over a full semester. Add to that her deepening relationship with her boyfriend, Sean, plus my busy schedule, and we hadn’t seen each other much.
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