by Kayt Miller
Dr. Kellogg told me that biographical information would help supplement their responses to the research questions. If I have good background information about them, I can look at their responses to my questions and analyze it against their other characteristics.
When a knock sounds on the door, I suck in a lung full of air for courage and say, “Come in.” When the door swings open, I see my first victim, er, participant. It’s a woman. If I had to stereotype her, I’d say she’d fall strictly into the ‘nerd’ column. She’s wearing horn-rimmed glasses that look authentic––from the actual 60s. She’s also got on a shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her pants are black and polyester, and she’s wearing shiny black shoes that lace up. Her hair is pulled back using two barrettes on either side of her head like I used to wear in elementary school.
I clear my throat, “Are you, Samantha?”
“Yes. Call me Sam, please.”
“Of course. Sam. Please have a seat.”
Sam pushes the door closed and sits down on the seat with her back to the window. I planned it that way so they wouldn’t be distracted by the people walking by gawking into the room or by the few idiots who make faces or hand gestures as they pass.
“Thanks for agreeing to do this, Sam.”
“No problem. I’m always willing to help my fellow students with research.”
After she completes the biographical information for me I say, “So, shall we get started?”
“Sure.”
“I’d like to go through some of your survey responses and then ask you some follow up questions. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
“First, I see you’re a virgin.” I watch her face turn from a pale pink shade to one that’s magenta, I think she’s going to pass out. “Sam? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t expect that to be the first question.”
“It’s one of the things I’m interested in writing about so…”
“Yes, I’m a virgin,” she says swallowing hard.
“Is that by choice?”
She blinks at me with her mouth agape.
“I mean, are you saving yourself for marriage?”
She lets out a loud guffaw. “No! It’s just me, I guess. Who wants to sleep with a nerd?”
“Lots of guys.” I don’t want to get into any details, but she needs to know, “’The Nerd’ was the second favorite stereotypical female the guys chose.”
“What was first?” she asks leaning forward.
“The girl next door.”
“Fascinating,” she says leaning back.
“Alright, let’s move on. You’re a sophomore in Computer Science?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been in a long-term relationship?”
“Yes. In high school.”
“But, you didn’t consummate that relationship?”
“No. He ended up liking guys.”
“Ended up?”
“Well, he was just confused. It happens. We’re best friends now.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Uh, huh. Cool,” she deadpans.
As I work through the list of questions, I realize I’m a lot like this girl. She’s got an air of confidence about her, at least as it relates to her academics. It’s just when it comes to men; she’s as clueless as I am. After the interview, Sam asks, “Will you let me know when you’ve finished with the research paper? I’d love to read it.”
“Of course. I’ll make a note to send you a copy.”
“Good. I hope it sheds some light on all of this stuff. Men confuse me.”
I laugh, “Me too, Sam. Me too.”
Chapter 8
Virginia
By Friday, I’m completely exhausted. My week was filled with classes, work, and interviews with fifteen of my twenty-five survey participants. Since all of them have such different schedules, I’ve had to work around them by meeting extra early and very late; one male couldn’t meet until eleven at night. So, yeah, I’m pooped, but I’ve got to keep chugging along because I’ve got three interviews scheduled for Saturday, one on Sunday, and the rest next week.
Entering the apartment, I share with Peach; I smell something yummy in the air. “You made brownies?” I say excitedly.
“I did. You’ve been working so hard. I thought you deserved a treat during GoT.” (That’s Game of Thrones for those of you who are out of the loop.)
“Yay! I love you so much!”
“I know. But, I’ve got ulterior motives.”
“Uh, huh.” I know what they are. She wants the scoop on my interviews. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the show is on. Let me change, and then I’ll tell you what I know.” I change into sweats and an old tee, sans bra, of course. I plop down on the sofa in front of a plate of warm, gooey brownies. “Yum!”
Peach sits next to me, grabbing a brownie, “Spill.”
“Well, it’s been interesting. I think I’ve found at least one possible contender to help me with my problem.”
“Virginity isn’t a problem, Virginia. It’s just a state of mind.”
I nearly choke on my brownie. “Tell that to my hy…my thingy.”
Peach leans down and speaks into my crotch region, “Hey you down there. It’s a state of mind.”
“Moving on,” I roll my eyes. “He’s really cute in a skater boy kind of way.”
“Skater boy? Are there still skater boys? I thought Avril Lavigne took care of that whole thing once upon a time.”
“Anyway,” I ignore her. “He’s grunge-like. He had a skateboard with him and a graphic tee.”
“Of course he did.”
“He likes girls who are more free-spirited.”
“And?”
“I can be free-spirited.” With one eye quirked upward Peach starts to say something. I keep right on moving. “He’s a junior. I’m calling him Free-spirit.”
“What’s his major?”
“He’s not sure…”
Peach starts to giggle. “Of course he’s not sure. Oh, gurrrl, that’s not going to end well, but I think you should give it a try.”
“His survey says he likes girls with long wavy hair.”
“Shocking,” she says sarcastically. “Guys are so predictable. I suppose he likes blondes.”
“Brunettes.”
“Well, that’s lucky. You don’t need to dye your hair for him.”
I look at my best friend and blink. “I hadn’t considered that. If this is going to work, I’ll probably need to change some things about myself like hair color, clothing, that sort of thing.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“It’s for science,” I say getting lost in thought. “I could get extensions.” Since my hair is barely shoulder length and straight.
“Extensions are expensive, and you’re broke.”
“I could call my dad. He’d help me.”
“Wow, you must really want to do this if you’re willing to ask your father for anything. I thought you’d written him off.”
My mom and dad divorced when I was ten. He married another woman, Tina, a month after the divorce was final and moved to Illinois. I see him once a year, maybe, and talk to him about as often. He never sent us any money. “I know. I’ll ask him. He may turn me down. Who knows?”
“Back to your contenders. Is there anyone else?”
“There was one. I’m calling him Punk Guy.”
“Punk Guy?”
“Yeah. He has dark blue hair and several piercings. I saw the edge of a tattoo on his neck.”
“Ooh, a neck tattoo?” Peach says making a sour face. “I love tattoos, but once they start creeping up on the neck, that’s just no.”
“He was nice. He likes girls with multi-colored hair…”
“Obviously. What’s his major?”
“Music.”
“A musician? That’s trouble.”
“He likes dirty talk, but only if it’s him, that’s doing it.”<
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“Now, that’s hot.”
“I thought you’d like that.”
“So, anyone else?”
“Not yet. I’ve still got ten more interviews. I think I want one more to add to the mix.”
“I bet you do. When did you become such a hoochie?”
I laugh surprised at her comment. “I’m not going to sleep with all three. I just want to pad the odds a little bit.”
“Good plan.”
Chapter 9
Virginia
I wake up bright and early on Saturday to make it into work by six thirty. I work until one then I’m off to the library for three interviews. It’s a busy day, but I like it that way. When I walk into the Coffee Bean, I see our manager, Kip, at the register. With an internal groan, I make my way to the back room to stow my bag.
“Oh, good. You’re here,” says Kip. “I’m going to let you take over here. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to get to.”
“But…” He doesn’t let me finish because he’s back in his office in literally seconds. What I was going to say was ‘But, it’s Saturday morning. It’s going to be busy.’ Why bother? He’s worthless. I wish Jackson were here.
Sure enough, as soon as I’ve tied the dark green apron around my waist, the door flies open and a large group of people enters. I do my best, but I can’t keep up. I’ve looked back toward Kip’s office several times, and I’ve called for him twice. I’d run back there to get him if I thought I had time. I don’t. People are getting irritated.
“I’m sorry. It’s just me here. Just be patient, please.”
“This place sucks,” grumbles the third guy in line.
“I know,” I say under my breath. Rather, my manager sucks.
By the time the line is down to a trickle, Kip finally comes out of his office, “Everything okay out here?”
“No! I was slammed. Half a dozen people walked out.”
“Well, why didn’t you holler?”
“I did!”
“Oops, my bad. Had my headphones on,” he shrugs.
I’d love to quit, but I can’t afford it. “Yeah, well, maybe you should have your door open when the shop is open.”
“Please don’t tell me what to do. I’m the manager here. You’re my employee.”
“Fine,” I mutter as I grab coffee beans to refill the grinder. “Whatever,” I mutter.
“Watch that mouth, young lady.”
Young lady? Kips only a couple years older than me. I grumble and keep working.
“I may need you to stay longer today. I’ve got an appointment...”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he snaps.
“Can’t. I’ve got appointments with participants of my research study to meet. Sorry.” Not sorry.
At one o’clock, I grab my backpack and push open the door so hard and so fast; I nearly brain a big guy walking into the shop. “Oh, sorry,” I squeak.
I look up and see a gorgeous guy. He’s wearing a white ISU Hockey ball cap on his head. “S’okay,” he mumbles.
Checking my phone, I see I’m running late. Setting off on a fast clip, I make it to the study room just in time. Flopping down in my seat, I hastily grab the survey printouts for the three interviews. I dig through my bag in search of a pen when I hear a knock on the door. “Come in.”
When the door creeks open, I see a familiar face. Familiar since I nearly broke his nose with the door of the café ten minutes ago. “You? Are you Baker Stark? He grunts something that could be taken as an affirmative.
I stand up and raise my hand to shake his. “I’m Virginia. Please have a seat.”
Baker Stark sits down hard on the wooden chair across from me. He’s so tall his knees nearly bump the table. The chair creaks with his weight. I wonder how much he weighs? He’s not fat. Oh, hell no. He probably has zero body fat because he’s all muscle and brawn. His broad shoulders span way beyond the width of his chair.
I look up at his face to see him staring back with a scowl. Ignoring it, I keep right on looking. Dang, he’s so good looking. His hair is sort of long. He either needs to keep growing it out or get it cut short—it’s at that in-between stage. His eyes are dark and broody. It matches his strong nose that reminds me of those Roman statues. I let my eyes move downward to his lips and I let out a little gasp. Nothing loud enough for him to hear, mind you. If I could describe his lips with word I’d say they were pretty. Is that bad? To call a guy’s mouth pretty? Well, his definitely qualify. They’re full and they look soft, but right this minute they’re in a flat line of irritation.
Welp, I guess that means we’d better guest started. Staring time is over. “So, thank you for agreeing to this interview.” I hand him the biographical questionnaire and watch him quickly fill it out. “Ready?”
He grunts and gives me a little nod. Man of few words, apparently.
“I’m going to go through your survey asking you some questions along the way. Is that okay?”
I look up at him as he nods. Great. Is this how it's going to be? A lot of grunting and nodding? Ugh. “You play hockey for Iowa State?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a thing here? Hockey?”
“Yeah. Club sport.”
“Are you any good?”
“Yeah.”
“What position do you play?”
“Goalie.”
Since it’s like pulling teeth to get this guy to respond I’m moving on. “Your major is kinesiology?”
“Yes.”
“What do you plan to do with that?”
“Physical Therapy.”
Huh. That’s interesting. Moving on.
“So, you’ve been in a long-term relationship?”
“Yep.”
“How long was the relationship?”
“About a year.”
Wow, three words! “When was this?”
“High school.”
“How old were you when you started dating?”
He blinks at me looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Sixteen or seventeen.” He shrugs.
“So, you’re no longer together?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Different colleges.”
I think it’s safe to say that two or three words may be the most he’s able to speak. “Was the breakup mutual?”
“No.”
“Who broke up with whom?”
“She with me.”
“Were you sad?”
“No.”
“So, that’s your only long-term relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Would you want to be in another long-term relationship?”
He smirks, “You asking?”
“No!” I say flustered. “I’m just trying to get a feel for your personal feelings about relationships.” Geesh. I know my face is pink because it got hot in a millisecond. I look through the list of questions and his responses trying to decide where to go next. “You chose ‘Other’ when I asked you which hair color you preferred.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have a preference?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Just don’t.”
God, this is like pulling teeth. I need to stop asking him yes or no questions. “What is it about curvy/voluptuous women that you like? You’ve chosen that as your preferred body type.”
“They’re soft.”
“Soft?”
“Yeah, soft.”
Moving on. “You ranked your favorite body part as smile?”
“Uh, huh.”
“Then legs, face, eyes, ass/behind, mouth/teeth, hands, arms, feet.”
“Yep.”
“What is it about the smile that made you choose that as number one.”
He shrugs. “I know a fake smile when I see one.”
Oookay. “You say height doesn’t matter? Why not?”
“I’m six five.”
“And?”
Nine words. I’m getting better at this. “Maybe in the WNBA?”
He makes a scoffing noise. “Doubtful.”
Note to self, check out the tallest woman in WNBA. “Oh, this is interesting, in the section under ‘What Attracts You,' you only listed one thing as Extremely Important.”
He nods and leans forward in his chair placing his arms on the table.
“The kiss. The rest were Somewhat Important or Not Important. Why was the kiss the only one Extremely Important?”
“The kiss is everything.”
“Everything?”
“Hell yeah. The kiss is the ultimate test of compatibility.”
“How so?” This is the most animated he’s been.
“It just is. The first kiss is the most important kiss.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because. It’s the most intense, the most exciting. A kiss is the mind, the body, it’s everything.”
I think they’re nerve-racking and stressful. “You obviously like kissing.”
“I like to fuck too, but I’m not going to fuck someone who can’t kiss.”
Okay. Graphic much? “Uh, I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never been kissed?” he looks at me with a peculiar expression.
“Of course I’ve been kissed. But, this isn’t...”
“Stand up.” I watch him stand up to his full height. The guy is ginormous.
“What?”
“Please. Stand up,” he says softly.
I stand up and wait. He slowly walks toward me. “Um,” I say fidgeting back and forth on my feet.
“Can you feel your heart beat faster?”
“Yes.”
I can tell. I can see your heart pulsing in your throat. Your breathing as picked up too. Your chest is moving up and down faster. And it’s all because of one thing.”
“One thing?”
“Anticipation.” He’s stopped walking and is now standing directly in front of me. I can’t help myself; I look up into his eyes. “Your eyes have dilated.”
“They have?”