Marcus fumbled under her dress, which rustled like a swarm of bees. He must have done the same to a million women. Or maybe just her, here, now, tonight? He moved as if he knew where everything was: zippers, hooks, things to raise and things to slide. He pulled the dress over her head and Penny shivered with total love and a fear she was doing her best to conceal. Her heart pounded like she was about to have a heart attack, with all the strength of one last goodbye bang. She found herself in her bra and panties under the heat of Marcus’s gaze, and wondered if it was all a dream, one of the countless fantasies she’d been having over the last few weeks. But then his hands removed the last of her clothing and his tongue tasted her skin – slow but impetuous – telling her that this was all too real. He bit her nipples gently and stroked them with his fingertips, sending chills of pleasure throughout her body, in sync with the rhythm of her heart.
Then he moved down her belly, parted her legs and kissed her down there too. For a moment Penny lost all sense of place and time. With her eyes fixed on the skylight bathed in fallen rain – without actually seeing it, because her vision was filled with tiny sparks of pleasure and delight – she enjoyed his voracious touch at the centre of her body and stopped thinking about anything else; if she could have, she would have stayed that way for the rest of her life. But Marcus suddenly broke away from her. He stood up and stared down at her with the eyes of a hungry predator, remaining like that for a moment, beside the bed, in the shadows. Finally, he let out a sigh that was almost a rattle and took off his pants. Penny trembled for a moment like she had done back in the alley, but the fear of having him inside her was less strong than the need.
Marcus pulled a condom out from a drawer. He quickly opened the wrapper with his teeth and started to put it on, but Penny stopped him.
‘Can I do it?’ she asked.
Where has this shameless hussy been hiding? From which novel, film or soap did I learn to be so forward?
He nodded, and she saw his throat twitch as he swallowed, as if watching something new and mysterious, even though it must have been the millionth time for him. Penny tried to stop her clumsy hands from shaking. She tried not to look stupid or let on that she’d never done this before, but although she had indeed never done it, and she did feel a little stupid, she managed better than she expected.
She lay back down. Marcus kissed her again, a kiss so good Penny could have happily orgasmed simply from the way his tongue intertwined with her own. Then he took her hips in his hands, raising her up a little, and entered her body.
The pleasure disappeared, replaced by a sharp pain. It was as if her skin had been cut by a red-hot metal blade. She would have had every right to shout at him, ‘Stop, wait, do it slowly – I’m fragile!’ But she didn’t say anything at all. She only uttered one small cry, which could be mistaken for pleasure, and held back her tears.
Marcus moved with the impetus of a man making no concessions for someone who was doing it for the very first time. He thrust back and forth inside her like a battering ram, at the same time kissing her, licking her throat, squeezing her breasts, and gripping her thighs to make her body arch. Penny kept her eyes open so she could see him: his arms, his chest, his stomach glued tight to her own, the key to her lock that was opening for the first time in her life.
Suddenly he whispered to her, ‘I’m coming,’ and Penny said ‘Yes’, excited, almost as if she were about to give him a gift, and she felt him go deeper, so deep she was afraid he’d reach her ribs, and then the rhythm became even more frantic. He growled in her ear, his tongue becoming a spear, and finally he exploded inside her like a supernova.
Marcus collapsed on top of her, breathing like a sprinter crossing the finish line. Penny desperately held back her urgent need to tell him, I love you, I love you, I love you!
They stayed like that for a while, melted into each other’s skin and sweat, until Marcus rolled onto his side and lay down on the bed, nestled into her body.
Penny wondered, Should I leave now or can I wait? Can I say thank you or would that make me look stupid? How long will it take for him to forget about me?
Then something happened that broke the fragile spell. Marcus sat up. He was about to take off the condom when his eyes, still clouded from his mighty orgasm, became masked with anxiety.
‘Penny!’
She didn’t immediately understand why Marcus’s face wore a look of horror.
‘What the . . . ?’
And then she understood.
The condom was stained with blood and a crimson patch had spread between her open legs. It flowed out of her skin, staining the duvet on the bed, enough to betray her secret.
‘Penny!’ Marcus exclaimed again. ‘Tell me that’s not what I think it is.’
She shrugged her small shoulders. ‘I think it’s what you think it is.’
Marcus placed his hands over his face and began to breathe hard and fast.
‘Are you mad because I stained your duvet?’ Penny asked, trying to smile. ‘I’ll pay to have it cleaned.’
‘Why the fuck would I care about a duvet?’ he snapped, springing to his feet.
‘If it’s not a problem for me, it shouldn’t be one for you either. I’m not dead. It’s a completely natural thing.’
Marcus started moving around the room like an angry lion on a chain. Penny got dressed in an instant, without bothering with her underwear. She covered her wound, hoping that once it was out of sight, out of mind, Marcus would stop hating her.
Suddenly he stopped, and Penny looked at him, enchanted by the thought of what had just happened, of his body on hers, of the two of them who had been so distant becoming one, and she was so lost in remembering that she didn’t hear his question, not until he said it a second time.
‘Did I hurt you?’ His voice came out in a whisper and a gasp.
‘Not that much. Not really.’
Marcus looked for a cigarette. He walked around the apartment, naked and beautiful, his hands shaking with rage. He managed to get a spark after three false starts with the lighter and took a long drag. ‘You should have told me!’
‘It’s no tragedy. I’m still alive, aren’t I?’
‘Damn it, I hadn’t even noticed. I mean, you were very tight, but I thought it was because you didn’t do it often, not that you’d never done it in your life. And besides, I’ve had no way to compare. The women I’m with generally have their doors wide open.’
‘Really?’
‘Do I look like someone who fucks virgins?’
‘So it was a first for both of us.’
‘Why did you lie to me?’
‘I have a wild imagination, but I know it’s bullshit.’
‘It really is.’
‘I can distinguish a dream from reality, and I know it would never have happened that way in real life. The whole Prince Charming thing with the music, the flowers, the beating hearts. I know those things don’t exist.’
‘And what does exist? Someone who splits you in two without a word?’
‘It was a beautiful experience for me, really.’
‘You even enjoyed it when . . .’
Penny bit her lip. ‘I . . . uh . . . I don’t think so, not in the sense you mean.’
‘There is only one sense, Penny. Did you feel pleasure?’
‘I was happy . . .’
‘I’m not talking about happiness. I’m talking about an orgasm.’
‘No, I didn’t have an orgasm, but . . .’
Marcus sat down on the bed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. Penny stood up, picked up her few belongings and smoothed her tousled hair.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said, smiling. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine, and I’m happy anyway.’
‘Happy about what, damn it?’ Marcus exclaimed, annoyed.
To have done it with you. That you were my first. That I can still taste you in my mouth.
‘To have it out of my mind. I’m nearly twenty-three. It was getting ridiculous. Now ever
ything will be easier. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.’
Marcus looked across at her as she got to the door. ‘You were in no way disappointing. A man can’t fake that, you know.’
She didn’t tell him that she wasn’t referring to his body. She knew his body had wanted it. She wanted to ask him how he was feeling; if it had felt right when he kissed her; if he felt that no taste could be sweeter than her tongue; if he had felt their souls merge when he entered her.
But she couldn’t ask him any of those things and, above all, she didn’t want to know the answers. She was sure they would kill her.
So instead she opened the door and said, a second before she left, ‘Thank you, Marcus.’
16
MARCUS
She avoids me, she wriggles away, she tries to escape like a frightened gazelle. If I let her, she’d jump off the bus while it was still moving. I don’t want her to get soaked, and if she doesn’t dry off soon, she’ll risk getting sick.
Why do I always have to take care of her? I get the distinct impression she ought to be paying me more for what I do. I have to protect her ass from Grant and pretend to be a good boyfriend, and now I have to look after her health.
Maybe I feel sorry for her. Yes, that’s definitely it – I feel sorry for her. She really touches my heart at times, but never more so than tonight. She looks like a stray cat lost in a rainstorm. There’s nothing more to it than that, of course: even assholes like me can still pity someone like her.
So I take her to the Gold Cat. While Penny’s drying off, Sherrie comes up and winks at me. ‘I like this one,’ she says with a smile. She’s always had a soft spot for me. If it weren’t for her, what happened in my past would have destroyed me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This girl is the one.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘I know, your girlfriend is Francisca and blah, blah, blah, but it’s only because you’re used to Francisca. She’s the only stable thing you’ve had in years, you’ve gone through hard times together, and that can make you think you love someone, but love wouldn’t destroy you the way she will.’
‘Francisca doesn’t destroy me.’
‘No, but she lands you in prison.’
‘Please, Sherrie, will you just drop it? Penny means nothing to me, OK?’
‘You weren’t looking at her like she meant nothing.’
‘What, me?’ I exclaim, genuinely puzzled. Sherrie used to be a prostitute, but that doesn’t mean she spares me any of her lessons on romance. She and my mother were two whores with heads full of fairy tales. ‘And just how exactly was I looking at her?’
‘With tenderness.’
‘“Tenderness” is not a word I know. “Compassion” might be nearer the mark. Did you see how wet through she was?’
‘I’ve seen many things in my life and I’m sure of this: it’s compassion, not a sense of revenge, that can turn into love.’
‘Look, just go make her some hot coffee and something to eat, will you? Any more compassion from the two of us and she’s gonna catch pneumonia.’
I can’t stand it when she talks about Igor, but she insists on teasing me about him, and personally I don’t find that funny at all.
If I were less stressed and tired after my particularly shitty evening spent chasing after some little fool in order to explain – as if I owed it to her – that I did not in fact fuck her former classmate, a small flicker of intelligence might lead me to wonder why on earth she gets to me quite this much, but I am tired and stressed and I’m not asking any questions. I just think I’d better take care not to reveal anything about Rebecca’s offer of two thousand dollars, which I refused without batting an eye, I might add. I didn’t say no because I have feelings for Penny – no romance here, just a little common sense. I could have used that cash, but I’ve had my share of dirty money and maybe it’s time I earn some without sacrificing my own conscience.
I’m not sure quite how it happens, but my conversation with Penny suddenly takes a strange turn. Don’t push me too far, baby, don’t do it. I’ve been wanting you for weeks.
And then, with those texts from that moron Igor just adding to my frustration, and Penny boasting about them and trying to read them to me, all I wanna do is lift her dress and shove it inside her right now.
Don’t push me, Penny – I barely need an excuse. One more challenge from her, and then there’s no holding back.
I’m so hot for her, but I try to give her the space to leave. Maybe she’ll think about it and realise the mess she’s about to get into, and that I’m not the right man for a girl who wants princes and violins. I don’t know how to speak words of passion. If she wants sweet whispers and poems she should go.
I begin to undress in an attempt to scare her, but she’s not scared. She watches me as if I were a puzzle without an answer, then sits on the bed and calls me over with her eyes.
And that’s good enough for me. She’s not a little girl anymore, is she? And if it’s OK with her, then who am I to say no?
I put my tongue in her mouth, and she tastes good, sweet and juicy, so I devour her. I sink between her lips, and I’d like to stay like that for an hour, just kissing her, biting her nipples, licking her pussy, before spending the rest of the night fucking her in every corner of the bed.
But it’s not possible. There’s no time – it would be absurd and I can’t be indulging in all this crap. I just need to fuck her. Guys like me don’t bother with foreplay.
I’m undressing her and suddenly my lungs are expanding, like I’ve suddenly inhaled several tons of air all at once, and when she’s finally naked in front of me, my erection becomes one of the most immense I’ve ever had in my life. The blood is literally singing in my ears, flowing from my brain all the way down to my legs. I just don’t know what the hell is going on with me.
She’s tight, so tight and sensual that I multiply inside her. I look at her, and I push in again and again and again, as hard as I can, until I come, I come and cry out, I come and I want to call her by her name, her full name, Penelope, and it’s so strong, this wanting to do it, but I manage to stop myself.
I don’t want her to leave yet. We have to do it again. Once is not enough for me – it’s really not. I still have so many things I want—
And then I see the blood.
Blood on the condom, on the bed, on her skin.
I’m paralysed for a moment, looking at this sign that’s unmistakable. She was a virgin.
My memory rewinds to the moment when I entered her, and I see my passion, my violence, my rhythm, and I feel like someone who’s torn a lamb apart with his bare hands.
‘You should have told me!’
The idea that she might hate me now, the suspicion that what I did was horrible for her – it pisses me off and makes me feel weak, all at the same time. I need a damn cigarette. I have to think.
Think about what?
I’m sinking into a swamp of paranoia here, and it’s not my fault! She told me she’d already done it, and now she’s not even trying to make me feel guilty.
So why on earth do I feel so guilty?
She’s pulling her clothes on and I have to stop myself from going over to her. I’d like to take her gently in my arms and hold her close.
I’ve never wanted to hold a woman after sex before. Even with Francisca, we pull apart, we turn our backs, as if being that intimate makes us want our own space. But when I look at Penny, she seems so small to me, even more fragile than she did before, and I think back to her lily-white skin and her ruby-red blood, and I remember the exact moment when she cried out: she cried out because I was hurting her, because I stole her innocence without even knowing it.
I have to stop obsessing about this. It’s done, it’s over, it happened.
OK, so we fucked and she’s no longer a virgin, but she wanted it, she made a choice. I had my pleasure, and that’s enough. When do I ever worry about the feelings of the women I fuck?
>
But when she leaves, more or less dressed, shoes in hand, her hair mussed up and that smile all her own, she even thanks me, and all I wanna do is ask her to wait, stay longer, tell me how you really feel, let me touch you again, but slowly, gently, without any pain this time. Let me make you come.
Luckily, I don’t. I watch her leave while I continue to sit there and smoke, and I close my eyes and tell myself to stop it, Marcus, stop it. This has gone on long enough already.
17
Penny couldn’t sleep that night. When she arrived home, her legs were shaking, and it wasn’t just from emotion. They hurt like she’d been doing ballet splits.
Well, hell, it sure felt like I was doing ballet splits.
She didn’t shower before lying down on her bed in her party dress with no underwear: she wanted to keep some trace of Marcus on her. She thought back to all the moments that had just passed, and it seemed strange that the merging of their bodies was no longer merely in her imagination but something that had happened in reality.
She cried like a woman full of regrets for something precious that was lost, even though she had absolutely no regrets – and all the madness of the past night had resulted from her own conscious decisions.
So I’m not a virgin anymore. Am I any different? Am I better or worse?
She didn’t know, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was only ever herself, with or without her ruptured hymen. So what had changed?
She thought also of Marcus’s expression when he’d found out. Was it anger? Disgust? What was the message in his eyes exactly? She wanted to understand it better, to read it correctly, but she couldn’t: he’d seemed sorry, yes, but why? Because he had hurt her, or because he hadn’t given her an orgasm?
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