Losing Virginity

by Ava Michaels

  I ‘ooh’ed and gave him an arched eyebrow. I’m socially awkward. He continued.

  “So one day, I get what I think is a pretty bright idea. I go down to the general store and I ask Old Man McCreary for some horse laxatives. That guy was pretty old, so he didn’t really question it and gave me some of the good stuff.”

  I had to interrupt. “Really? Old Man McCreary gave you the ‘good stuff’? Is there such a thing as ‘good stuff’ when talking about horse laxative?”

  He gave me a sort of fake one eyed glare and laughed a little. “Are you going to let me finish my story or keep ripping on me for the hay in my hair? Otherwise, I’ll ask why you’re still a virgin,” he said, winking.

  I motioned for him to continue, holding back a smile. I liked this guy. A guy you can laugh at is a guy you can stay with. However, there wasn’t any chance I was going to tell him why I was a virgin. I was such a big virgin that not even my lawn had been mowed by a guy… EVER. At this point I was willing to skip the oral and get straight to my pie being poked with a stick, a big stick. Jeez, I was becoming a horny toad… I wasn’t going ribit. I was going rub it. Concentrate Olivia.

  His voice awakened me from my sexed up daydream of him and I. Thank god. I didn’t want to have to say, ‘Oh sorry, I couldn't hear you over the imaginary sex I was having with you in my head,’ when he asked me why I wasn’t listening.

  “As I was saying, I had the pretty potent horse laxative in my hand and a half full fifth of scotch that I stole from our parent’s liquor cabinet. I was going to make sure that they drank the laxative, so I had to do it slyly. If I tried to give it to them outright, they would know I tampered with it. I had threatened to pay them back not too long before. So my plan was to dose the scotch with the laxative and then walk by the corn fields they always were shooting the .22 in.”

  I could tell where this was going.

  “They made you drink the scotch?”

  “No and you are one of those people who likes to guess the end of a story before it is finished and ruin the whole telling of it,” he said, laughing. “So, as I was saying, I dosed the scotch with a fair bit of the horse laxative and walked down through the field. I caught site of my brothers at the edge of the corn field, shooting cans and I skirted it pretending not to see them.

  When they caught sight of me swinging that bottle of scotch and pretending to drink it, they took off after me like bloodhounds and I led ‘em on a grand little chase. They ended up catching me near the back fields of Mr. Gafferty’s property and pinned me down. I made a big show of being angry at them, telling them the bottle was mine and calling them all sorts of names. When I called Johnny a son-of-a-bitch, he lit up with rage and dragged me to a nearby outhouse that the field hands built and threw me down the hole.”

  “Oh no,” I blurted out. “Oh no, that is terrible.”

  He grimaced as he saw it dawn on me what was about to happen.

  “They laughed and laughed that they got me good and that pa was going to give me a whuppin for stealing his scotch. They all took big swigs of it, pretending to drink like they thought real men drank, guzzling it down. Not even tasting the horse laxative, or if they did taste it, pretending they didn’t. Those assholes didn’t know what scotch tasted like.”

  I started laughing, but guardedly. This was a really embarrassing story and kind of gross.

  “You can basically figure out what happened next. All I can tell you though, is that diarrhea that is full of scotch really burns your eyes and any cuts you may have. It was a really terrible day.”

  My laugh got out of my grip and let loose and I just laughed at him for quite a while. He let me get it out, a slight grin on his face, and finished smoking his cigarillo. As gross as it was, it still was funny.

  “So how is my first standup routine? Pretty funny? The actual story is pretty boring and has nothing to do with shit. Stretching the truth, a lot,” he said, with a sly smile.

  “What?” I asked, still giggling over a “shitty” story. “Then why did you tell it?”

  “I just wanted to tell an embarrassing story that would make you laugh,” he said, grimacing slightly. “It was a pretty good story though, right?”

  “Did you make that up right here?” I asked.

  He nodded. “For the most part. I just used a bad story and tried to make it funny and cringe worthy.”

  “Well, it was a pretty good story on the spot. If you paused just right that would be great for your first standup routine. The Dane Cook fans would love you.”

  "Yeah, too bad I’m not a comedian... Anyway, now it’s your turn," he said, leaning back on the bench and preparing himself for what he probably thought was going to be a hilarious tale.

  "Oh, okay. Now it is my turn to make up a ludicrous story that didn’t happen? I can manage that.”

  “No. You started this game. Just because I don’t play by the rules doesn’t mean everybody is a cheater. Go ahead,” he urged.

  “No," I said. "I have told enough embarrassing things about myself tonight. I'll save my turn for next time, if there is one."

  He laughed.

  "Well, that almost sounded like you just invited me on another date."

  "Almost."

  I was getting into this guy... Too much. I didn’t know how he felt but I didn’t want to slow down… Neither did my… My lady parts... I’m sure she was waving come on in with her wings. Why was I relating my vagina to wings?

  "So, would you like to go for a ride?" he asked.

  I did, but I had heard about riding in cars with boys. There was even a movie about it. It had something to do with Drew Barrymore being pregnant.

  "Sure. Just a ride though, no throat-slitting or chloroform," I said jokingly.

  "How ‘bout scotch with horse laxatives in it?" he asked.

  "Of course that. I mean, it wouldn't be a party without scotch and horse laxatives, right?" I laughed. "You can bring those party favors as long as you let me reenact your pretend childhood for you."

  He laughed too. "I've been waiting my whole life for a woman to say that to me: 'Ryder, I want to diarrhea scotch onto your face, just like your brothers did' Of course, that didn't really happen."

  We both cracked up and he stood, offering his hand to me. Maybe this meant the shit talk was over.

  We walked out to the giant city parking lot where hundreds of student’s vehicles sat, unused for weeks at a time. He pushed the clicker to his keys and the front lights of a 1971 Maserati Quattroporte blinked on.

  "Oh my," was all I could say.

  I sounded like a titillated young girl seeing her first penis. How did I know what that was like? I had seen a penis before and so had my friends. However, I didn’t exactly do anything with my first penis. The guy dry humped me over my jeans which I could only imagine felt like sandpaper to him. I cringed with every “hump”. A penis already has a rough life the way it is. His hair always looks a mess, he stays next to an asshole, his family is nuts, his best friends are pussies and his owner is always beating him. But he must have enjoyed it because when he got off me he had jizzed on the crotch of my pants. This car was a much prettier scene then that. MUCH prettier.

  "That is a 1971 Maserati Quattroporte," I said, standing still and looking at the car.

  I started to circle it. It was black and sleek without a spot of dirt on it. The tires looked barely worn, the chrome sparkled and I could see how perfectly cute my hair looked as a little wind swept in my reflection in the spotless windows.

  "How did you know that?" he asked, astonished. "Not that I'm saying girls can't know about cars, but this isn't a car that is incredibly well known. I... Am... Really turned on by that."

  I slapped his arm, continuing to circle the car, feeling the lines of it. Truth be told, I was turned on that he was driving it. My lady parts were beginning to scream flood warning!

  I took a deep breath. "My father had the 1972 Quattroporte, except his was blue." I said, remembering back to very simple summer n
ights when mom would order pizza and we would talk about high school and our social lives out on the porch and dad would work on his 'fixer upper' car in the driveway. "He would always go out into the garage to work on it in winter, but my mom and I always assumed he was out there drinking a beer and doing man things."

  He laughed out loud.

  "He probably was," he said. "I had always wanted a car like this when I was young. When I heard that song 'Life's Been Good' by Joe Walsh, I always wanted to own a Maserati."

  "What's that song?" I asked. Even though I knew the song, I always liked to ask that question because then everyone always tries to sing it for you.

  Then he tried.

  "You know, it goes," here he started with a high pitched twang, "My Maserati goes 185, I lost my license, now I don't drive."

  I laughed at his rendition of the song, but thought it was cute.

  "So, does it go 185?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I never tried to get it that high."

  I got a mischievous grin on my face.

  "You realize that you have to drive me around now," I said. "I'll tell you a story on the way if you do."

  “Anything to get you in my car,” he said, grinning.

  Jesus Penus! I turned and checked myself out in the car’s window next to us. I bent forward to get a better look. I moved my hair behind my ears and then grabbed my boobs, pushing them up and together. Suddenly, something moved inside the car. I paused and the face of some girl got clearer as she pressed her face against the window.

  This was that awkward moment when you're checking yourself out in the window of another car and realize there's someone inside… She started laughing at me and I realized I was still holding my boobs. I let go and walked backwards until my butt pressed against Big Stick’s car. I turned around and he was sitting in his car laughing. My ass print covered the window.

  Embarrassed, I knelt down so he couldn’t see me anymore. I heard the car window slide down above me.

  “You okay out there?”

  “Tying my shoe.”

  I was wearing sandals.

  I took a deep breath, stood up, and slowly got in the car. I sat down in the tan leather interior and adjusted the seat. It was a beautiful car on the inside and the outside.

  “Everything okay out there?” he asked, grinning.

  I glared. “Yes, Big stick.” Then I smiled.

  He gripped the steering wheel and I imagined it on the highway.

  "I wonder if my father ever actually intended to fix his Maserati, or he just left it out there as a reason to go off by himself."

  "I think you might know a little more about guys than you think. You would be a very difficult wife to stealth-drink around."

  "Well, I'm a harsh, but forgiving master," I said, grabbing his hand.

  He just smiled and bowed his head. He turned the key in the ignition and it roared to life, settling down into a silky feline purr.

  “Nice shoes.”

  I looked down at my sandals and smiled. Busted.

  He put the car into gear and eased out of the parking lot and onto the road which would take us to Route 91.

  “So how about this story?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

  "Well, when I was thirteen, I was friends with a couple of the cool kids in school. We all hung out and everything was alright and I started to have a crush on this guy, Derrick."

  He shifted into second gear and revved onto the access road that led to route 91.

  "One day I invited Derrick and my friends to a pool party at my house. They all came and we had hot dogs, we drank Kool-Aid that Alisha secretly spiked with some of her mom’s vodka.”

  He shifted into third and got onto the highway, picking up speed rapidly.

  "There was one point when we were all in the pool that Amanda said we should play chicken, you know, the game where two people sit on two other people’s shoulders and try to knock each other off.”

  He shifted into fourth and switched three lanes over to the fast lane.

  "Amanda sat on Bruce’s shoulders and I was on Derrick's shoulders and we went at it. We grabbed hands and tried to force the other off their partner.”

  He was in fifth now and cruising along the highway. He looked at me and grinned, not afraid, but wondering where this was going to go.

  "Then I heard it. Derrick had turned around and Bruce saw something he could not help but laugh at. And when he laughed, everyone joined him. As it turned out, I had just experienced my first blossoming as a lady, all down my boyfriend’s back.”

  He gasped, obviously not trying to offend me. Had he not gotten the car up to 95 miles per hour I’m sure he would have offered a sympathetic look, maybe even hold my hand for just a second. Then a bird slammed the windshield.

  “Angry birds!” we both shouted and instantly looked at each other laughing.

  “You really are a dork!” I shouted.

  “I told you… Don’t go telling everyone though. I’d like to keep some of my manly image.”

  “I won’t,” I said smiling. “I think when a bird hits your window it’s just God playing angry birds with you?”

  He laughed. “I’m not that dorky,” he said, winking. “Alright, finish your story.”

  "Well, when I went into school the next day, somehow the story had gotten out and several of the nastier sort of thirteen year olds were wearing red capes around the school, trying to fly at me like Superman.”

  He didn't say a thing, until he drove up to the parking lot in front of the bar. I looked at him.

  “Well, that is pretty awkward for a girl to go through. Boys are real dicks at that age. I should know. I was one... Now I look back and wish I didn’t do that shit.”

  "Don't worry, I got them back good."

  I smiled and started to get out of the car but he didn’t let go of my hand, pulling me back to the seat. "You have to tell me what you did, the curiosity would destroy me otherwise."

  I grinned. This was the badass me that I wanted back… Well, badass for a good girl like me.

  "I actually broke into one of their lockers early one morning before anyone was really around and I found the little asshole’s journal. I was going to print it and distribute it throughout school." I paused for effect. "However, in the journal I found that he had written pages and pages of love notes to one of the seniors on the wrestling team. I made a copy of it and when he opened his mouth to hassle me, I handed the paper of his own words to him. I told him I would plaster the school with it if he ever picked on me again. Needless to say, the rest of my high school career was a piece of cake.”

  Big Stick's jaw dropped…

  "Wow. Look at you. Little Miss Blackmail."

  “Damn right son,” I said, throwing my hands around like a stereotypical gangsta in a movie.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you aren’t going to shoot me next are you?”

  “Not a chance!”

  We both got out of the car and walked towards the Dip in the Drink bar. This was a total world away from the Snake Pit. It was much quieter, with jazzy music and candles on the tables. Big Stick was a bit quiet, which worried me that he was intimidated by my story. Stupid bloody story!

  We sat down next to each other at the bar and looked at what was on tap.

  “Two Blue Moons,” he ordered from the bartender.

  I looked at him surprised.

  “It's on your OkCupid profile,” he said and handed me the pint. I took a sip.

  “This is my favorite beer,” I said.

  He stared at me for a while, tilting his head in a strange way.

  “What?” I said, and brushed my hand across my lips and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

  “You just have a very expressive face when you are enjoying something,” he said, smiling. “You close your eyes a little and tilt your head back. A small little smile creeps up and you moan a little.”

  I blushed a deep red and felt my face heating up. Did I really do all that?


  “Well, I think this beer deserves it, especially when it has an orange in it. It is the height of pleasure.” I said and laughed.

  It was his turn to blush and shift in his seat. Wow, I thought. I can't believe I just did that to a man. Bringing the A game today son!

  “Jeez. I feel like I should just buy you beer all night, then,” he said, then realizing that what he said sounded creepy, amended that with, “Just so you'll talk about beer, I mean. Not in a 'I want to get you drunk and take advantage of you' sort of way.”

  I laughed it off. “I know you. Luckily we are a far ways away from the river,” I joked.

  He laughed and drank his beer, then paused, tilted his head back slowly, closed his eyes and smiled a little then gave a big UUGGHHH grunt.

  “I don't sound like THAT!” I said, laughing and hitting his arm.

  “Whatever you want to believe.”

  I nudged him in the arm smiling and he grinned.

  “So, do you wanna hear a joke?” he asked. “It better be a good one,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.

  “Two shots of Johnny Walker Black,” he said to the bartender.

  “So Pierre the French Fighter Pilot went out on a picnic one day with his lady friend. They brought some picnic baskets filled with wine, cheese, bread, you know, French things,” he said and I nodded, smiling already. “They talked and ate and chatted and things were going great. So then his lady looks at him and says 'Pierre, I want you so bad, take me now' and she put out her lips for him to kiss.”

  I looked at his lips. Fever… I wanted to kiss him!

  “So Pierre, he pops a bottle of white wine and pours it over her face and kisses her, lapping it offer her,” he said, mimicking that to me without the actual kissing that I wanted so bad all of a sudden.

  “She sputters with the wine and says 'Pierre, why did you do that?' and he responds, 'I'm Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot. With my white meat I like white wine'.

  I started to laugh at what I thought was just the end of a really cheesy joke.

  “Not the end yet,” he said and I smiled. “So she gets really hot by this and she rips open her shirt, exposing her breasts and says, 'Oh Pierre, you make me so hot. Kiss me, take me now'. So Pierre pops open a bottle of red wine and pours it over her breasts, doing the same.”