by Kayt Miller
He slides his hat back and blinks up at me but says nothing.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Hm, mm,” is all he says.
I can’t help noticing how big the guy is. Even lying on the ground, I can tell he’s tall and broad. His legs are super muscular, at least the part I can see sticking out of his cargo shorts. He’s wearing a tight gray tee that says Iowa State Hockey. “Uh, would you like to take my sex survey?”
“Nope.”
I stand above him casting a shadow over him. “Seriously?”
He slides his hat off of his face again. He’s not bad looking if you like that sort of thing. “Seriously.”
“Please?” I whine.
Sighing, he sits up raising his hand out to me. I’m not sure if he wants me to help him stand or, oh, he wants the iPad. I hand it to him and smile. “Thanks. It’s for my senior thesis project.”
When he says nothing but starts to click, I remain silent. In less than five minutes, he’s finished and handing me back the pad. “We done?” he snaps.
“Yep. We’re done. Thanks!” I say cheerily. What a crab. He must be in a bad mood.
Just as I’m about to convince myself that’s the reason he’s curt, a gorgeous blonde woman bounces up to him and practically flops herself on top of him, “Hey, Bake.”
“Hey sweet cheeks.” He says reaching back squeezing her ass.
With a giggle, the perfect blonde wraps her arms around his neck and pulls herself up for a kiss.
I take that as my cue and leave. Ugh, beautiful people make me sick. Okay, not really. It just seems so easy for pretty people. I’d never land a guy like that. I’m too plain. I’m short and overweight that I package in over-sized clothing. I do that because it’s comfortable. I almost always have on Converse tennis shoes in one color or another having five different choices in my closet: red, yellow, green, black, and hot pink. I’ve got mousey brown hair that stands stick straight to my shoulder that I usually wear in a ponytail at the base of my skull, plus I wear a pair of thick ‘nerd’ eyewear just to tie all that hot mess together.
I look back at the blonde’s tiny shorts and crop top, and then back down at myself. I’m wearing an oversized Iowa State tee with baggy jeans that I bought at the thrift store. With a sigh and a shrug, it is what it is. I make my way back to the table.
Eight hours and two sore bottoms later, we’ve got over one hundred and seventy-five surveys. The majority of them were male participants, but we have a fair amount of women too. Now all I have to do is sort through the information, arrange for the individual interviews, and choose the guy who’s going to help me rid myself of my pesky hymen. Ugh, gross. Great! I just grossed myself out.
Chapter 5
Virginia
“Wow! I’m shocked by these surveys.”
“What’s surprising about them?”
“One, by some of the responses and two, I’m blown away by the number of people who volunteered for the one-on-one interview.” Not really. I suspect a lot of them think that Peach will be interviewing them. But, I’ll take what I can get. “I need to let this survey tool pick twenty-five people at random.”
“Are you only going to interview males of the heterosexual variety?”
“Nope. I’m going to let the survey tool choose them. I decided I’d let fate play a roll in all of this. Besides, the study would be seriously slanted if I did that. I like the idea of this study and want to know more.”
“And rid yourself of your pesky hy…”
“Stop!” I say putting my hand in front of Peach’s face. “Don't say it.”
“Hymen,” she mutters quickly.
Ignoring her, I continue, “I think this research is relevant. And…” I hesitate for effect, “If I happen to find someone who would be perfect for doing, uh, that thing you mentioned, then great. Otherwise, I’ll just plan on dying with my hy… thingy intact, while alone with my house full of cats.”
“You’re allergic to cats.”
“Fine! Hairless cats. I didn’t realize I had to be that specific, Peach.”
Ignoring me, she asks, “Okay. As a hetero female, tell me something about the men we surveyed. What do they like? What don’t they like?”
I stare at Peach.
“For science,” she adds smugly.
“Okay,” I sigh. “So far…here’s what I know, in general, about that group of participants.” I start with the questions and summarize the main points. There’s still a lot of data to work through, but I know Peach and all she wants to know is if she’s considered hot by these guys. I should have considered that. Her looks and sweet bubbly personality could have swayed the participants. Hmm, I’ll have to think about that.
“Hello! Earth to Virginia!”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, so here’s the gist. Our male / heterosexual participant: Twenty-five percent were age eighteen and nineteen, seventeen percent were twenty to twenty-one.”
Peach is using her hands to gesture––move along. I flip the page to get to the nitty-gritty. “None of the guys said they were virgins.”
“Of course they didn’t. Who in their right mind would admit that at their age?” she snorts.
“Gee, thanks!” I whine. “You’re such a dick.”
Giggling, she clarifies, “I just meant for guys. They’d never admit that.”
“Whatever. Forty-seven percent have been or are currently in a long-term relationship.”
“Interesting.”
“Uh, huh. The questions related to sleeping with a virgin, dating, and marrying a virgin were pretty mixed. I’ll have to go through that one thoroughly.” I turn the page to the ‘What attracts you?’ questions. “Here we go. Hair color in order of favorite to least favorite: blonde, brunette, black, red-head, blue, purple, pink, etc.”
“Well, that’s not a surprise. Blondes do have more fun,” she smirks.
I roll my eyes, “Moving on. Hairstyles?” I say flipping to the next page of my print out. “Long is number one with long and curly or wavy being one and long and straight is two.”
“Bummer,” grumbles my pixie-haired friend.
“Next is medium curly or wavy, then short, chin length, straight and so on.”
“Do I even want to know where the very short pixie cut is on the list?”
“Probably not. Second to last.”
“Whatever, I love my hair,” pouts Peach.
I continue, “Body type was athletic first then average, thin, curvy/voluptuous, any, I’m not picky, ultra-thin, and full-figured.”
“Isn’t curvy and full-figured the same thing?”
“I thought so. My guess is these participants saw one term as positive, the other negative. That’s interesting. I need to make a note to do more research on that.” I jot a note in the margin of the stats. “Next was the question about which specific body part attracts you. I had them rank them from one to ten.”
“I bet boobs was number one.”
“Nope. But, it was up there. The numbers on the top five items are pretty close but here’s the order from favorite to least favorite: face, smile, breasts, eyes, legs, ass, mouth/teeth, arms, hands, and last is feet.”
“No foot fetishists on this side of the survey? Hmm, interesting,” says Peach tapping her chin.
“What is it with you and feet? Oh, wait, forearms are your thing,” I giggle.
Ignoring my joke about her fascination with forearms, Peach says, “Keep going. The next one is height, right? I’m tall, so I’m hoping that’s the top score.”
“Sadly, no it’s not, my friend. Short, then medium doesn’t matter as long as she’s not taller than me, then tall, and last was doesn’t matter.”
“Assholes,” she mutters.
“Ooh, this is a good question. I asked them which personality trait’s that attracted them. I’ll give you percentages about this one. Intelligence was number one at forty-nine percent.”
“I call bullshit on that one.”
“Why?”
“Well, we did survey college guys. That could slant the survey that way.” I shrug. “Next was physically fit/active with forty-three percent. Humor had forty-two percent, moral integrity was twenty-nine percent, kindness was twenty-eight.” I flip the page again, “Dependable had thirteen percent then the rest are all around the five to ten percent range.”
“Weird. You’d think ‘Good in bed’ would be up there.”
“Yeah, this one is confusing to me. I should have limited the choices, perhaps. Ten may have been too many and some terms sort of overlap.”
Peach moves over so she can read over my shoulder. Pointing to my paper, “This is the question I added to the survey. About attraction when you first meet. She reads moving her lips as she goes, “Physical appearance/body type is first. Not a surprise there. Then clothing, speaking voice, personality, how they interact in the particular setting and the last two flirting and manners.”
Peach snorts. “Manners?”
I shrug, “Good manners are important.”
“Not necessarily if guys are trying to hook up. They want bad, bad manners.”
“The dating app question is disturbing. Almost all of them have used Tinder in the last sixty days.”
“Ugh. Tinder gives dating a bad name,” Peach grumbles.
“Don’t you use it?”
“Yeah, but I hate myself afterwards.”
Giggling, I punch Peach in the shoulder. Standing up I say, “I need to get to class. We can finish this up later.”
“Three more,” she whines. “I want to know the sexual position response, the favorite stereotype and the dirty talk question,” she whispers the last one.
“Not about masturbating?”
She snorts, “If those guys said anything less than ‘Yes, daily,’ I’d be shocked.”
“Yeah, that was number one, but several responded ‘Can’t keep track.”
“Ooh, ick! Imagine their room. Their bed,” Peach shivers. “No amount of bleach…”
“Next!” I shout. I flip through the pages to give her the top rankings of each of her questions. I'm going to be late. “Sexual position favorite was missionary.”
“Yawn!”
“Stereotype was ‘The girl next door.’”
“Double yawn.”
“You’re that type.”
“Ha! No way. I’m the porn star.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Peach.” I continue. “Dirty talk? The vast majority of guys said ‘Yes, when we both do the talking.’”
Shaking her head, Peach asks, “Show me the guys who sad ‘Yes, but only if it’s me doing the talking.’
“No. I’m not showing you the individual surveys.”
“But, Virginia,” she whines loudly. “I helped you. I deserve a dirty talking alpha male as my payment.”
“No can do.” At least not yet.” I fold up the papers. “What about Ryan Gosling?”
“Ryan Reynolds biatch,” she mutters. “I sent him a text.”
“And?”
“I thought you had to get to class. You’d better get going. You’re going to be late.”
“Frick!” I say grabbing my backpack. Before I leave, I turn and pick up the rest of the printouts. “Better take these,” I say flapping them in front of her. “Wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles.
“And I want to know about Ryan Gosling when I get him!” I shout as I run out the apartment door.
“It’s Reynolds you dork!”
Chapter 6
Virginia
Since we live in West Ames about two miles from campus, I use CyRide to get to class. As I wait at the bus stop, I sift through the papers again. I’ve already let the survey application select the twenty-five participants for the second part of the survey. I pull those pages from the back of the stack and read through the list. It’s pretty even with fourteen males and eleven females. That will be perfect when it comes time to write about all of this.
When it arrives, I grab a seat on the bus in the way, way back and pull my phone out. Starting with the first person on the list, I begin. I copy and paste the first text to the remaining twenty-four that briefly introduces myself to them and asks if they are still available for a survey. If I have people pull out, I can get replacements from the remaining pool of participants.
Me: Hi! My name is Virginia. As you may recall, you completed a Sex survey for me last week. You signed up for the one-on-one interview so I’m writing to set up a time to do just that. Send me a quick reply of Y or N to let me know if you’re still interested. If you are, I’ll follow up with more information. Thanks!
By the time I’ve reached my stop, I’ve got the initial text messages sent to all twenty-five, and I’ve gotten three responses already. All of those have said ‘Y’. By mid-afternoon, I’ve gotten twenty more responses with only one ‘No’ from a female participant. This is working out great.
After classes, I walk past the CyRide bus stop and make my way to my job at The Coffee Bean on Welch Ave. As soon as I open the door, the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee hits me. It never gets old. I’ve tried almost every coffee concoction we make, and I’ve loved them all. As I walk back to the small back room, I wave at my other favorite person, my coworker Jackson Valmer, “Hey Jackson.”
“Hey, beautiful.”
Sighing at his words, I can’t help thinking how sweet Jackson is. It’s too bad he plays for the other team. Jackson is H-o-t with a capital ‘H.' Jackson’s got long, dark hair that hits him in the middle of his back. Ordinarily, he likes to let it flow freely, but he can’t here at work, so he ties it up into a high bun on the back of his head. His face looks like it was chiseled from stone with his high cheekbones and strong nose. His lips? OMG, his lips are so full and look so soft, I sometimes catch myself fantasizing about kissing him.
Jackson isn’t super tall, but he’s taller than me. Most people are since I barely get to five foot one on the height chart at my doctor’s office. Jackson has to be close to five foot nine. He’s also super in shape but not overly ‘roided’ out as he says. He also says he works out because he likes the view at the gym. Who doesn’t? All those ripped, sweaty guys. Okay, so I don’t work out at the gym, or anywhere, but I do like the view when I’ve gone to meet up with Peach.
I step into the backroom, stow my backpack in the corner and grab a dark green apron. Stepping out I sidle right up to Jackson bumping him with my shoulder, “Hey foxy.”
“Hey yourself. Good day?”
“Meh. Okay so far. Where do you want me?” Jackson isn’t the manager, but he might as well be. Our actual manager is a douchebag and a lazy one at that. “The rush will hit in about five minutes so why don’t you man the machines and I’ll take orders.
“Sounds good.” I get to work restocking everything I’ll need for the after three o’clock rush. That’s when most students head home after their afternoon classes. What can I say? We students need caffeine after a long day listening to lectures.
“So, how’s that sexy survey coming along?”
“Good. Interesting. I’m working on getting twenty-five people to sit down with me for a more in-depth interview.”
“I bet you are, you naughty girl.”
I snicker at his comment. Jackson knows about my virgin status. He knows I’m the least naughty girl at Iowa State University. He just likes to tease me. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“No, seriously, do you have twenty-five to interview?”
“Almost. I…” Before I can get another word out, the door flies open, and several people walk in. “Time to get to work,” I mutter. Once the floodgates open, we’ll be busy for the next hour making complicated coffee drinks for my fellow students.
As I work like a demon to make a large iced skinny hazelnut Macchiato, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light Ice, no whip, I hear a deep
voice above me say, “Hey.”
I look up, way up, to see a very good-looking guy peering down at me. I blink at him but then return to my work.
“I said, hey,” he says again.
I look up and see him staring at me intently. “Hey? Um, if you need to place an order, Jackson will help you.” I say using my head to point him in Jackson’s direction since I’ve got my hands full with Hazelnut juice. Jackson will love helping him; the guy is beautiful––and big––two of Jackson’s must-haves.
He grunts and moves up to Jackson where he orders a large black coffee. Weird. Nobody orders a black coffee anymore.
When my shift is over, I hug my friend, remove my apron, and grab my backpack. I’ve got just enough time to get home and still catch the new episode of Game of Thrones. After a long day, I need to relax and get my fill of some John Snow stat!
On the ride back on the bus, I check my phone hoping the final two participants have replied. Slumping my shoulders when I see they haven’t responded, I decide to give them until tomorrow night before I get replacements for the remaining openings.
Chapter 7
Virginia
By the end of the week, I have twenty-five confirmed participants scheduled for one-on-one interviews. While I’m nervous to talk to people face-to-face about their sex lives, I’m excited to get to this part of my research.
I’ve chosen to meet up at the library in one of the private study rooms. I’ve been able to reserve the same room for the days and times I’ll need it. It’s ideal. It’s private, but there’s still a window overlooking the main floor of the library. Since I’ve got five minutes until my first volunteer arrives, I straighten my pens and papers one more time. It’s a nervous. I’ve done it fifteen times already; one more won’t hurt.
I look at the questionnaire that I’ve finalized with my major professor earlier this afternoon. Besides going over their original responses, I’ve got additional questions for them. The first section they’ll fill out about themselves with questions about their full name, address, email address, and phone number along with their college major and current classes, extra-curricular activities, and jobs.