The Nerdy and the Dirty

by B. T. Gottfred

  But she kissed me first.

  Penelope kissed me first and I kissed her back.

  And, frankly, this is far better than any of my superhero scenarios. There’s something about how Penelope kissed me, not just her confidence in making the move before me, not just her sensuality, but that she chose me. Chose me despite all my problems. Or maybe because of them. Or it doesn’t matter why, what matters is that her kissing me first made me feel like I’m worth kissing first.

  * * *

  And, obviously, kissing Penelope is more than emotionally uplifting. It is also extraordinarily physically pleasurable. And not just because my penis is erect. In fact, right now, that’s more distracting than pleasurable.

  Kissing is not biologically necessary for procreation, so I always wondered if I would enjoy it the way other people do. I like logic, I like efficiency, and kissing didn’t seem very logical or efficient.

  Then why am I enjoying it so? Beyond the expected physical enjoyment of her wet lips against mine, her smell not just in my nose but in my entire body, and her legs wrapped around my waist?

  I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing. But I like kissing Penelope more than I dislike not knowing. In fact, I’d be fine not knowing anything ever again as long as I could keep kissing Penelope.

  Except there are tears in her eyes. My kissing must be so terrible that it’s making her cry.

  “Are you crying because I’m doing it wrong?” I asked.

  She laughed a tiny laugh. For a moment, I felt even worse than I felt when I thought she was crying at my terrible kissing. “No, Benedict…” She stopped. Which I expected. Penelope really hated talking. But then she talked more anyway. “I love how you kiss. I’m crying, I don’t know, I think because I’m just feeling a lot. You make me feel a lot.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It’s great. It’s great, great, great.”

  “Good. Because I like kissing you. And I thought you were crying because you didn’t like kissing me. You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed.”

  “I figured,” she said.

  “You figured because of how awkward I am?”

  “I figured because you kissed me like you meant it. Like I was special.”

  “Okay, good.” My arms were getting tired from holding her. But I didn’t want to say that.…

  “Your arms must be getting tired,” Penelope said. Maybe kissing someone lets them read your mind. This is ridiculous. Obviously. “You can put me down and then we can sit on the couch, okay?”

  “I like you close,” I said, and then, instead of letting her down, I took a step back and sat on the couch with her legs still straddling me. More tears formed in her eyes, but I was starting to understand this was a good thing. But I didn’t know how to say “What did I do to make you cry happy tears?” so I just stared at her in silence, our faces very, very close.

  “I don’t talk much,” she said.

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  For another second, she was silent, but then Penelope took in a big breath and said, “But I want to talk. I’ve always wanted to say what’s on my mind, but I just never do because, I don’t know, maybe because I was afraid people wouldn’t like what’s on my mind. And I wanted to be liked more than I wanted to be me.”

  “I want to hear everything you have to say about everything,” I said. Was this true? I’m not sure. I couldn’t guarantee this was true because I hadn’t heard everything she had to say. So I said, “Let me amend that. There may be some things I don’t want to hear you say, but I am willing to risk hearing you say something I don’t want to hear because I like hearing things I want you to say so much.”

  I’m not sure if what I said made any sense but Penelope kissed me again, so I didn’t care if it didn’t make sense. This kiss was a single long kiss. I didn’t move because I didn’t want it to end. When she pulled back, she said, “Do you realize how what you just said no other person could say?”

  “No…”

  “I love your brain, Benedict. I love how it works.”

  Strange. What’s happening. My eyes. Ummm. This makes no sense. “Are you the one now crying?” Penelope asked.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible, but yes, I think so. I’m not sad.…”

  “I like that you’re crying,” she said, with this smile that made me like her even more.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s just I want to understand why I’m crying. I’m usually very good at explaining myself.…”

  “Take your time,” she said, and kissed one of my tears away. Even though I started to have an idea of what I would say, I waited until she kissed away my other tears to speak.

  I said, “I’ve always wanted girls to say nice things to me, but I always imagined them saying it in the way I would say it. Or the way I had seen it said in books or in movies. But you said, ‘I love your brain.’ I’ve never heard that before. So I think I’m crying because you said something I wanted to hear even though I never even knew I wanted to hear it.”

  Now Penelope’s eyes were tearing up again.

  “You’re crying again…” I said.

  “I am.”

  “I just explained why I was and now I would enjoy hearing why you are this time.”

  She said, “You … just said I had said something unique.”

  “Yes,” I said. “One-of-a-kind unique.”

  “And, and…” Penelope was almost sobbing now. Smiling and sobbing at the same time. It was very strange. But also beautiful. She continued, “That’s what I’ve always wanted to hear, and I have imagined hearing it, a million times, but I never imagined you, Benedict, would be the one that said it.”

  42

  Penelope

  Benedict and I sat there on the couch in the Bear Room for at least another hour, telling each other things, then kissing, then just staring at each other, then kissing, then talking, then staring. I think I said more to Benedict in that hour than I had to Paul in three years. That can’t be true, but it can’t not be true either.

  Since I spent most of the time straddled on his lap, I could feel his hard-on. I’m a sexual freak, so of course I was aware of it. But I didn’t say anything. We talked about our families, about school, and about Paul, and religion a bit, and a bunch of other stuff I never talk to anyone about. But I didn’t want to talk about sex. Benedict’s dad had basically banned him from seeing me because I wore a short skirt to dinner. What if telling Benedict about my weird sex obsession made him rethink not listening to his dad? Benedict had never kissed a girl before me. He was so innocent. He wasn’t ready to handle my crap. So that’s the one thing I kept inside my head. The one real part of me Benedict didn’t now know. And maybe it’d be better if he never knew.

  * * *

  At midnight, the office lady came in and said the lodge was closing. After we stood and started walking outside, we felt like strangers again. We didn’t know how to talk unless our faces were inches apart.

  And then Benedict said, “Thank you for giving me my first kiss, Pen. It was the best first kiss in history.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m very inexperienced. I’m not sure what I should be doing now. Does a boy usually hold a girl’s hand when they walk outside after kissing?”

  “Sure,” I said, which felt lame. I loved how he put it all out there. So I said, “I mean, yes, Benedict. A girl likes when you hold her hand after kissing. I would like that a lot actually.”

  He reached over and took my hand. Our fingers entwined. I slowed down our pace because my cabin was close and I didn’t want to say good-bye yet. It was freezing but I didn’t care.

  He said, “I’m not sure how my father’s going to react when I tell him I kissed you. He may decide I’m no longer worthy of being his son.”

  “He’s not going to say that.”

  “My father is very logical and I’m—”

  I interrupted him, “Then don’t tell hi
m, Benedict. I don’t tell my parents anything because they flip out over the stupidest things.”

  “But I want to see you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Can you sneak out again after they go to bed tomorrow night?”

  “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow night. I want to see you the moment I wake up.”

  I couldn’t not pull him down and kiss him after he said that. I just had to.

  “Does that mean you want to see me too?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We’ll figure something out. You have your phone?” He nodded, took it out of his coat pocket. I put my number into it. “Bring it to breakfast. Only the lodge has Wi-Fi, so we can text then and find a way to see each other.”

  “You’re very smart, Penelope,” he said, but not like he was trying to say something nice. More like he was discovering it for the first time.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “It’s past midnight.”

  “Like twenty minutes past. We’ve walked a yard a minute since we left the lodge.”

  “That means I’m seventeen now.”

  “It’s your birthday?! Why didn’t you tell me?” I was acting all girly. I felt stupid. Whatever.

  “It didn’t seem relevant.”

  “Well, happy birthday,” I said, and then, because I’m still a sex freak even if I’m not going to tell him that, I pulled him down toward my lips again. Except this time I opened my mouth, this time I used some tongue, this time I wanted to drive him just a bit mad with lust. When I stopped, Benedict looked at me with these eyes, these hungry eyes.

  Oh, wow … trouble, trouble, trouble … I pulled him down one last time, kissed him quick but deep, and then ran inside the cabin.

  43

  BENEDICT

  I woke up early, left a note for my parents that I needed to drive into town to buy deodorant. This was a lie. In fact, I took my old deodorant, which was barely used, and threw it out at the drugstore. The real reason I needed to go was to buy condoms. I had never bought condoms before. I tried to pretend I had done it many times, so I bought a newspaper along with the new deodorant and the condoms. I had not read a newspaper since I got my own iPhone at twelve years old, but I convinced myself a person who bought a newspaper and condoms together would look like a person who bought condoms all the time. This makes no sense. I’m clearly not being logical. But I have logically determined that doing illogical things in order to spend time with Penelope was worth it.

  I didn’t really expect to have sex with her. Of course, I lay in bed last night thinking about it. For hours. But I’ll never ask Penelope to have sex. I’ll only do it if she asks. It seems like the boy should take the lead, but I liked how Penelope took the lead with our first kiss. I’m not sure what this means. But I am sure that I would feel like a pervert if I asked to have sex with her and she said she didn’t want to. But if she asked first, I wouldn’t feel like a pervert at all. Again, I know none of this makes sense. And again, I don’t think I can care.

  * * *

  At breakfast, after they brought out pancakes with candles in them and sang me “Happy Birthday” (my sister and mother sang; my dad watched them sing), I took out my phone as Penelope had instructed. My dad always read a book at breakfast, so I knew he wouldn’t pay too much attention to my texting. Penelope hadn’t arrived at the lodge yet, but there were several texts from Robert. He wished me a happy birthday in the first. It was nice to get a birthday wish from the person you want to be your best friend again. But seeing his name also made me feel as if everything I was enjoying with Penelope was a betrayal of him. His next text said Did Allison text you? She asked for your number. She hadn’t, which was good. Allison was no longer my dream girl. Maybe she was but I’m not sure I know what that means anymore.

  Penelope was my real girl and when I saw her enter the dining room, my heart raced as if it wanted to race out of my chest and cross the room and leap into her hands. This is ridiculous. So I texted:

  ME

  Penelope, this is Benedict

  She didn’t look toward me. I worried she had changed her mind about me. What if she remembered that I was socially awkward? What if, while I stayed up thinking about having sex with her, she stayed up thinking she made the biggest mistake of her life kissing me?

  But then I got this:

  PENELOPE

  Benedict, this is Penelope …

  happy birthday;)

  She had sat in the chair facing away from me and my family. This made it look like she didn’t want anything to do with me, but really it was just her being very good at keeping our secret romance secret.

  I tried to do the same. Turned to face the cereal bar, which was the opposite direction of Penelope. Maybe Penelope and I would grow up and be professional spies. Who are married. And have lots of sex. This is ridiculous. I texted:

  ME

  What do boys text girls that

  they like?

  PENELOPE

  They text them they like

  them.

  ME

  I like you.

  PENELOPE

  They also text them they

  thought about them all night.

  Penelope was being very forward. I liked it. My penis liked it too.

  ME

  I thought about you all night.

  PENELOPE

  I thought about you too.

  Even though I had thought about her a lot, I had not come up with any viable plan to see her without my parents finding out. Luckily, Penelope is much better at espionage than me:

  PENELOPE

  So here’s my plan: remember

  the warming hut we saw

  yesterday?

  This was the easiest question I have ever answered and I’m smart so I find a lot of questions easy to answer:

  ME

  YES

  PENELOPE

  I’ll go skiing first at 10 so it

  doesn’t look like we are going

  together. But then you leave

  fifteen minutes later and meet

  me there. Okay?

  This plan was genius. I’m not exaggerating. I don’t know how the greatest strategists in history could think of a better plan. Maybe Penelope isn’t just not dumb; maybe she’s so smart that she gets bad grades because school isn’t smart enough to measure her intelligence. This is ridiculous. This is probably Penis Benedict thinking. This was definitely Penis Benedict texting:

  ME

  OKAY

  My mom asked if she could take me shopping to buy a birthday present for me, but I said no, that I wanted to be by myself. She thought I was still upset about everything that happened last night, which I suppose I was in a small way but mostly I didn’t want to do anything but spend time with Penelope. But I couldn’t tell her that since she was married to the man who would rather see me dead than with Penelope. This isn’t true. I’m being dramatic. I’m never dramatic. Well, I’m never aware I’m being dramatic. I’m not sure what’s happening to me.

  * * *

  At 10:10, I told my mom I was going for a walk. She asked if she could go with me. I told her no.

  Elizabeth said, “Stop being mean to Mom. She didn’t do anything.” My sister then pointed at Dad sitting at the table by the cabin window. But he was typing at his computer and when he’s writing he might as well be in China.

  “I didn’t say she did,” I said. Then I left.

  * * *

  I got my skis from the boathouse, ran up the stairs to the trail, and then skied. Honestly, I probably skied faster than anyone has ever skied before. This is not true, obviously, but my penis has been hard since breakfast and I’m unable to think anything but crazy things.

  It would probably be best if I stopped obsessing about my penis. It can’t be healthy. I doubt other normal teenage boys think this much about their penises. But how can I not think about it when it hurts AND feels good at the same time? I really, really hope my sexual thoughts stop by the time I get to the warming hut. A
s experienced as Penelope is, she’s not some sexual freak who thinks about it as much as I’m thinking about it. If I only talk about my penis, she’ll think I’m very dumb and boring.

  * * *

  Evil Benny said, “You are dumb and boring!”

  And then he said a bunch of other stuff, but he was distracting me from Penis Benedict, so I sort of listened to Evil Benny in the hopes that when I arrived at the warming hut and saw Penelope, I didn’t just grab her and kiss her. I would try to act like a gentleman. Ask her about how she’s feeling, and other things like this that normal people ask about.

  By the time I was taking off my skis outside the hut, I was sure my plan had worked. I could almost feel my penis retreating. It would be easy to be calm and collected now.

  But when I opened the door to the warming hut, Penelope stood up from the bench. She had already taken off her coat and snow pants. It’s not as if she was naked. She still had jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt on. But she felt naked. And then she looked at me with those eyes again. Those biologically primal eyes.

  I had absolutely no control over my body. That’s not true. But I wanted it to be true. So I took two giant steps across the length of the hut, picked her up, and kissed her and used my tongue and squeezed her into me and I was so dizzy—because all my blood was in my penis, obviously—that I fell back to the floor of the hut, and Penelope fell back on top of me.

  44

  Penelope

  When I was texting Benedict my plan to meet him at the warming hut, other texts showed up on my phone. Texts from Paul. He was responding to my I miss you text from last night, which I forgot I sent and never meant.

  PAUL

  Babe! I miss you! God I miss

  you!

  I’m so stupid! I didn’t do

  anything!

  I shouldn’t have broken up

  with you!

  But I didn’t do anything!

  Stacy’s a fucking liar, so

  don’t believe a word she