“Nice show up there, too,” he says with another smile. I laugh, surprised that he is mentioning my performance.
“Yeah thanks,” I say, realizing that I’m a horrible conversationalist. I have no idea what to say to him.
“You wanna dance?” he finally asks and I feel relieved that we’re moving to the physical. Now this is something I can work with. I nod and we move into the crowd of pulsing bodies. I start to dance and Jared does the normal guy thing, standing behind me, his hands moving over my waist as I grind myself into him. Now I’m feeling a bit more confident. I know I can do a good slut dance, so I grind on him and finally turn around to face him, sliding my arms up and around his neck and both his hands fall into place at my waist.
It feels weird to dance with another almost stranger, except that this one is someone I’m seriously attracted to, not just some random frat boy that I don’t care about. This is someone I’ve been secretly crushing on from just one sighting and he has no idea. It’s damn hot to finally be touching him, my hands traveling over his bare muscular chest, finally wrapping around his biceps as I grind down low and then move back up again, trying to keep my face averted from his. It’s like I don’t want to know what he’s thinking, but the wondering is killing me so I take a tiny peek to see what he might be thinking of my ultra-smooth moves. He seems into me, smiling as I catch his eye, moving his hands over my waist and up under my bustier at the base of my back.
I try not to trip up and dance against him, pushing my tits into his chest and he looks down at me in the dim light and I feel this spark happening between us. It’s like electricity arcing between two points, his lips and mine and I want to kiss him. I want to throw myself at him and see what happens and I’m so drunk that I don’t care.
I’m normal Victoria, sexy, confident, drunk, not crazy. And so I get on my tiptoes, my fingers threaded around his neck and pull his mouth down to mine. He doesn’t resist, but kisses me, hard on the lips, his hands linking tightly behind my back as if he has some kind of need that only kissing me can satisfy. It’s like lightening has struck, the voltage humming through our bodies. I’m stunned, but I don’t stop, I just kiss him more deeply, slanting my mouth, my tongue sliding into his to deepen the kiss and his arms flow up and then down my back and pull me even tighter against him, one hand casually slipping down to lightly grip my ass. Shit! This is over the top, fireworks!
He pulls me against him again, hard, his strength surprising, his lips crushed to mine and I almost gasp because he is an excellent kisser. He teases me with his tongue, pulling back, biting my bottom lip just a bit and then diving in again for a deep overwhelming kiss and I can feel a pulsing pounding sensation spread from between my legs, radiating out into my limbs. Heat. I would love nothing better than to feel every part of him pressed up against me and I don’t even care if it’s random or cheap. I just want it. Animal Victoria is in control now and Animal Victoria likes sex, and feeling sexy and wanted. Of course, I haven’t gotten to the point yet where Animal Victoria realizes she’s a virgin and decides she’s not going all the way.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers roughly in my ear and I nod because I’m stupefied. Sex-brain has taken over. It’s all I can think about. I want him. I follow his broad back up the basement stairs, as he pulls on my hand and eventually we’re on the second floor and I’m laughing at something he has said and I’m ridiculously drunk and exhilarated.
“You’re so funny,” I can hear myself say, and the air around me seems glimmering and shimmering like a heat wave as we enter one of the frat boys' bedrooms. “Are you a brother here?”
“No, this is my little brother’s room,” he replies, pulling me inside, slamming the door, his hands suddenly attracted to my body like a powerful magnet. I knew there were rubber bands between us. I knew he was something special. He sits on the bed and I straddle his legs, my knees on the bed, my fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, my skirt inching up my thighs, exposing my thigh high stockings and garters. His eyes are sparkling and he seems drunk and I feel drunk and I want to feel the solid pressure of his hands on my body as soon as possible.
“You’re sexy, Victoria,” he says, staring at my cleavage pouring out of my bright red top. I giggle and then get serious. I’m going to do this right. I’m not gonna mess it up. So I tilt my head, smiling at him seductively and then lower my mouth onto his and kiss him as deeply as I can. He kisses me back and I cannot believe that I am here. That the guy I’ve been crushing on from afar picked me out of a pack of rabid sexually charged females downstairs. Maybe my little show did its work? Maybe I am attractive? Maybe I’m not crazy? Just for a minute, I can live in the fantasy that I can be normal. So I’m going to take advantage of it.
He’s kissing me harder now, running his hands up the zipper at the back of my top, one hand under my ass, trying to feel up inside my skirt where my black thigh highs end and my thong begins. When he finally gets where he’s been trying to go, I jump because I’m not used to male hands there unexpectedly. I’ve been paying too much attention to where his mouth is and where his other hand is.
“You’re wet,” he mumbles and pulling away I can see his eyes sparkling again and his sexy smile comes back and I’m just lost in it.
“I want you,” I say, trying to be suave Victoria, trying not to jump at where his fingers are moving. He reaches behind me and in one motion unzips my top, tossing it across the room and then his clever hands are unhooking my bra and suddenly I’m topless.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing my chest as I arch my back to give him full access. “Dance for me,” he finally says, pushing me up off his lap and getting up to turn on some music.
“Ok,” I agree as dirty rap music pours through the speakers, each bump of the bass beat like secret fingers moving over my body, telling me what to do. I do all the sexiest dances I know and I can tell it’s working because his eyes are glittering even more in the half light. He watches me with this tiny half grin, his mouth hitched up on one side and I know he’s a stranger, a stranger who is turned on by me and I know I don’t know him and it’s kind of exciting, kind of scary, and kind of sexy.
He gets up, pulling me toward him as he sits back on the bed, his fingers tracing over my arching curving body and he seems mesmerized. I feel more powerful than I have in weeks. He is sexy and he is paying attention to me. Not someone else, me.
He pulls me back toward the bed, fumbling with his shorts, his mouth glued to mine and suddenly I realize that he is definitely bent on having drunk sex. Drunk sex with a… virgin. It’s like sober crazy Victoria has suddenly popped up, telling me no, no, no, you can’t have sex. You’re a virgin. Sex is scary and going too far. You can’t do it.
All of a sudden I’m tense and the world is crystal clear, my head sober as Sunday and I know I don’t know him. I start to panic, thinking, I want to know him, I’m dying to know him and let him fuck me, but I know I don’t. He’s a stranger. How can I just hook up with him here? I will embarrass myself! How will he handle the fact that I’m a virgin!? It would be a show stopper, so I should put a stop to this shit show now and not wait for that to happen! OMG!! I push on his chest as he hovers over me and I hear myself saying,
“I have to go. I have to find my friends.”
He pulls back a bit, smiling at me, a little half quirked grin, sort of questioning.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I repeat, like an echo.
“Ok,” he finally says, shaking his head, as he lifts himself off me. I jump up, trying not to pay attention to his reaction, trying to find my bra and top amidst the clutter of the room. He just sits there, looking speechless that suddenly our sexual games have ended. But I’m out the door twisting my bustier around to the front in the hallway not daring to look back. I’m still drunk, feet totally unsteady. I can’t believe I just walked out of that room, left him there. It was like the fear actually got to me when I was drunk. Drunk, scared me. What the hell? I fumble my way down the hall and finally down t
he stairs that seem to be going in the right direction. On the first floor I spot Hannah and I can tell she thinks I look disheveled.
“Where have you been?” she asks with a suggestive grin.
“Upstairs with Jared,” I blurt, pulling on her hand toward the door to the basement. Time for more alcohol and more dancing, no more danger. I need my heart to stop beating so hard. I need to forget that I just ran away from the hottest guy ever.
“Well what happened?” she asks and I can tell without looking that she’s smiling, following along behind my hectic pace.
“Nothing. We fooled around,” I say, not looking back at her. She pulls on my hand.
“You did!” she exclaims, her mouth a wide O of surprise, until she gets a peek at my face. Then her smile falls a bit. “Wait, Victoria, stop, tell me what happened?” she says, pulling so hard that I have to stop and face her. I feel as though I might cry, but I don’t want to. I want to get something to drink, dance and feel sexy and not feel as though I just led someone on and didn’t give up the goods. I am lame. No more second chances for me. I have a sudden flash of insight that I’m going to hate myself with a passion tomorrow for what I’ve done tonight. But right now, I feel like I avoided a scary, embarrassing situation.
I stare at Hannah for a moment, finally deciding to tell her the truth. Making up elaborate lies is too hard when I’m drunk and emotional. At least, trying to be convincing is.
“He wanted to have sex with me and I left the room,” I say, trying not to say too much.
“Wait, you left?” she asks, brow wrinkled. I sigh. Goddamn.
“Hannah, I’m a v-i-r-g-i-n. You know, the V-team,” I finally say, rolling my eyes at how stupid I must appear to her. She smiles at me.
“Me too,” she says with a grin and I suddenly feel lighter inside. She understands. I feel more comfortable telling her the rest now.
“I wanted to fuck his brains out…but it’s nerve wracking when you’ve never slept with anyone before. I’m sure he’s been with tons of girls,” I blurt out in a rush. She squeezes my hand.
“Let’s go back downstairs, snatch,” she says with a smile and we head toward the door together and back into drunken, dancing oblivion.
#######################
Vision blurred, dark day sickness cured
Falling down the daylight crush
Nighttime fun, a dark done lush
Spirits rise, symphonic hues
Brightened lights and black and blues
Twilight dense with shadows bright
Sea like waves and crests of white
Purest memories, vision lost
Stumbling feet, bought at a cost
Twirling spot light, weighted down
Heavy hands, feel not a pound
Tilting over, spun around
Memory
Sight and sound
#######################
All I can think about is sex and I’ve never even had sex before. I don’t know why I haven't, because I’ve had plenty of opportunities. I feel like I’m scared of sex. I’m scared because I think it will hurt me the first time and it makes me nervous. I want someone to treat me right. I want to know I won’t get hurt and that it won't be embarrassing. I’m really not the kind of girl to let a bunch of guys run a train on me. I don’t want a lot of one night stands. I mean, I like to dance, I like to be sexy, but when it comes down to actually going all the way, I get scared and I always say no. A lot of girls have had sex when they were younger than me. I feel kind of old to still be a virgin, but I haven’t been in the right situation yet.
But oh shit, I want Jared to fuck me. Seriously…why do some people just touch a nerve or something? I can’t believe I walked away. Part of me wishes I had gone through with it and part of me is damn glad I didn’t. I just can’t stop wondering what he thinks. What does a girl running away from a situation like that typically mean?
November 18, 2004
R for getting recrunkulated
My assignment is to write about a place that has good fung shui. I have decided to write about my bedroom at my parents’ house.
My place is at the top of the stairs, and down a short hallway, the door at the very end. The room isn’t too big, maybe 10’x14’, just big enough for a double sized bed, a night stand, two dressers, a trunk, a fairly large closet and some floor space.
My room is a disgusting powder pink. At some age, probably 10, I decided that I was really into pink. I’ve cursed myself ever since then because I think I only liked pink for two seconds. It’s like I’m in a princess room or a stuck inside a piece of pink bubble gum. The carpet is pink, the walls are pink, the door to my closet is wall papered in pink polka dots.
My room is messy. It always has been, it will probably always be. Clothes are spread out over the floor, the trunk, the back of a chair. Dresser drawers hang open and my closet is a disaster. Every now and then I get up the urge to clean my room and I clean the entire thing, but that does not happen very often. I’m a slob, okay?
Proof positive is that my floor is strewn with papers, art projects, crafts, books, school stuff, and miscellaneous items collected over the years. The bed is unkempt. I don’t believe in making my bed, because why? I’m just gonna mess it up again later. But the best part about my room is the walls. There’s flowery wallpaper about half way up and then the pink walls start and this is where my artwork starts. Every conceivable space is covered, wall and ceiling, with artwork. Abstract, collages, watercolor, pastel, line drawings, charcoal, mixed media. In the corner is a self-portrait I did in high school in which I am supposed to look like I am on a stamp. On another wall are interiors from when I went through a stage where I was interested in perspective. Now several new pieces are on my wall because I’ve discovered dark black charcoal. On another wall are magazine clippings, mostly hot guys, tacked or taped everywhere. On the ceiling are glow in the dark stars and pieces of fabric that look like constellations glued to cardboard. This room is me, my expressions, my individuality. No one enters who has not been invited. My parents don’t believe in snooping and they don’t make me clean my room. This room is freedom. I create, I dream, I cry, I listen to music, I am me here, boiled down to my essence.
Near the bed there is a stain in the carpet. Rubber cement, dark brown, matted and hard, a perfect circle of dried glue. A testament to my creativity gone wild, spilled while decorating one of my journals with clippings from magazines. Now and then I step on that spot and the feeling is very odd, crusty and hard, and it reminds me of what this place is, of how free.
My hand cramps up and I stop writing. That should do it for my journal entry this week for class. I lean against my bed, homework spread out on the floor, an art project waiting in the corner, my journal turned to a blank page. Sitting here amid the clutter, trying to focus on homework, I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen or maybe wishing something will.
I’m trying to focus on finishing up some homework that I know I won’t feel like finishing tomorrow. It’s Saturday morning and I haven’t heard from Hannah about plans for tonight. I’m hoping she’ll call and tell me that something fun is happening because I am so bored!
I keep getting distracted from my homework, getting up to look in my mirror above my dresser, scrutinizing my appearance, hoping that I’ll be going out tonight. Hoping, stupidly, that I might see Jared again. I’m really not over my embarrassment of a few weeks ago, my cheeks still get hot just thinking about it. But I haven’t seen him since then and I do kinda want to see him.
My reflection in the mirror is…interesting. I’ve got a lot to criticize but in some ways I think maybe I am attractive. I laugh picturing myself in one of those boxing rings, my arms in the air like a champ and then the announcer comes over the speaker. “Weighing in at a mean 120 pounds and in need of the road sign, Danger Curves Ahead, Victoria Sawyer!” Some guy said that to me once, some cheesy line, but it made me feel good. The truth is that in general my skin isn’t quite cle
ar enough, my forehead’s too large, I’m not toned enough, my hair needs a trim and I’m really not certain about my facial features. They are even, I have full red lips and my eyes are a pretty nice shade of green but I’m not sure if it works well as a whole. I don’t know, it’s hard to judge yourself. Some days I look in the mirror and I think, damn girl, you’re looking good. Other times, I’m thinking woe is me I’m hid-e-ous.
The problem is comparison. In high school I had several small bubbly blonde friends who attracted all the attention much like that damned Stacia from the frat party. For some reason a girl who is 5'5” is too big and dark hair just isn’t as good as blonde. I’m definitely not fat and I recognize this, but still I imagine that I’m bigger than these tiny little girls that guys seem to admire and lust after so much.
Arhhh shit…I'm huge, I think, knowing that it isn't true but feeling like I’m in the mood to beat myself up. What guy would want this? I do have some decent curves I have to admit to myself, turning around to see my body in the mirror. My breasts are full and nicely shaped and my ass isn't anything to sneeze at either. My mother definitely gifted me with a nicely shaped rear end, although it is a bit on the large side. However it sometimes seems to me that these are not the things guys are interested in.
I purse my lips in the mirror, smiling wryly at myself. It’s interesting to remember the days when I wore glasses. Now when I stand back from the mirror, I have no problem seeing my face and how I look without anything marring my natural appearance. Seeing myself without glasses on is something relatively new. Just a few years ago, I’d get up real close to the mirror, just an inch away, take off my glasses and everything was blurry. Even close up I still couldn’t see myself clearly. The first time I had seen myself without glasses, standing back from the mirror, I had literally gasped because I looked so odd. I remember thinking, I look like a freaking alien with these huge eyes! I feel like my confidence has increased a lot since those days. It’s almost as if people notice me more now simply because I have more confidence, not because the way I look changed that much.
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