Heather
Sometimes I wonder what it feels like. I’ve heard that the sensation of a thick cock sliding between your lips and breaking your hymen is supposed to hurt, but I never imagine it that way. Even though I’m so tight, I think it might feel good. Really fucking good.
A slickness like honey beads inside my pussy and I zshift uncomfortably on the sofa, pinching my thighs together.
Becky, my roommate, had a new man in her bed last night. I could hear him grunting and her whimpering all night long. I couldn’t sleep. My little hole twinged for a taste of whatever was making Becky shriek like that.
I rifle through the mail, piece by piece, trying but failing not to listen to the voice in the back of my mind.
If you’d just put out, he wouldn’t have cheated on you. And then you would know how it feels to be with a man. But you just couldn’t do it…
Becky says losing my virginity isn’t supposed to be a big deal. She’s had, like, two guys a month since we started the semester, and each encounter has been louder than the last.
“Ugh,” I mutter, and toss the stack of junk mail down on the beaten coffee table. I live in a dorm, which means everything is beaten or worn, or had booze spilled on it at some point. Yeah, I’m twenty-one, and if you think the college kids around here aren’t drinking heavily, you’re on something. Which says more about you than us, am I right?
This is Columbia. It’s business and booze and sex. For everybody else.
Becky tells me a girl “like me” should be swimming in dick by now. She calls me Miss Scarlett Johansson because of the combination of high, round breasts, blonde hair, and these lips. To me, they’re too puffy, like I just ate something I’m allergic to, but Becky calls them “dick-smoking lips.” There’s plenty of fish in the sea, she says, and for a girl like me, they’re already in a barrel.
But it’s easier said than done. This whole virginity thing looms over me constantly.
Why does it have to be such a big deal?
“Ugh,” I say, grabbing two fistfuls of hair.
“Whatsamatter?” Becky pops out of her bedroom door.
“Didn’t sleep well last night,” I grumble.
“At least it’s the end of the semester. You should be over the moon.”
“Right. The end of the semester.” And not two days ago, the end of my only ‘serious’ relationship.
“Are you still hung up on what happened with Jake? Come on, girl, wasn’t that like a week ago?”
I raise two fingers. “Two days. And yeah, I’m still hung up on it. It was a real relationship.”
“Puh-lease,” Becky replies, rolling her eyes and flouncing into the living room. She fluffs her dark locks and flutters her green eyes at me. Sometimes, Becky reminds me of Claudia Schiffer without the mole. It’s probably why she’s ‘swimming in dick’ as she puts it. “It’s over. Find a new subscription. Find a new cock.”
“That would be much easier if I’d actually had a cock prior to my – uh – current drought?”
Becky’s gaze chases up and down my body, and she gives her head a shake. “Oh, boy,” she says, then finally saunters over and takes a seat beside me. She puts an arm around my shoulder and bathes me in Chanel No. 5. “Listen, I know it’s rough losing someone you care about, and I’m friends with Jake, too. I won’t take sides in this, but you’ve got to let it go. Like, in every way.”
“Becky.”
“I’m serious. You’re so hung up on what happened with Jake that you’re ignoring why it happened. You couldn’t fully enjoy the relationship.”
“I thought you weren’t taking sides,” I say, and pull out of the one-armed hug.
“I’m not. I just think that this whole virginity thing is hanging over you and that you just need to, I dunno, get rid of it. It’s not as big of a deal as you think it is,” Becky says
I chew on my bottom lip.
“Isn’t there anyone you can think of who can help you out?” Becky asks.
I cast my mind back but I can only shake my head. Before Jake, there was nobody. I didn’t date in high school, since I had to focus on my grades. My parents can’t afford Columbia, so I worked until I got a full scholarship.
Jake was my only distraction.
“No, there’s no one,” I say, and shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just wait for Mr. Right.” But I don’t want to, not really. I just want to get this over with. The trouble is, I have no one to do it with, and sleeping with one of the college kids around here is a Simon Cowell, “It’s a no from me,” moment.
Last night wasn’t the first time I heard one of Becky’s escapades in detail. They don’t last that long, and sure, she makes noise, but she always complains about how inadequate they are at finding her clit.
“Mr. Right? Girl, please. Try Mr. Right Now. There are quite a few seriously endowed Mr. Right Nows walking around on campus as we speak. Seriously, though, is there no one who makes you hot? Apart from Jake, I mean. Think back. Haven’t you had a crush on someone before?” Becky nudges me.
“I –” My eyes glaze over for a second and my thoughts dart back in time.
The first time I met him.
A gentle brush of his body against mine, accidental as I backed into the hall out of Jake’s room, carrying an armload of books. My heart racing, and the deep rumble of his voice.
“N-no one,” I lie.
“There is! There’s someone you’re thinking of!” Becky gasps. “Who is it?”
Nicholas Bennett… Jake’s father.
The day we met, he’d come to fetch his son for the short break between terms. He brushed up against me and sent heat spiraling through my core, a reaction that left me speechless.
Nicholas had been in a tight white cotton t-shirt that hugged the muscles of his arms and chest. Jeans tight against his thighs. And the smell – the lightest, greenest cologne. His eyes cut into me, probed me – bright blue and hungry, and his lips had seemed soft, parted to greet me.
I picture kissing him, then clear my throat.
“No one,” I say, firmly. “Becky, I don’t know anyone who’d help me out. And I don’t think – this is going to sound out there – but I don’t think I’d want to do it with someone I know really well, anyway. If I’m going to just, you know, get it out of the way, it would be way better to do it with someone I’ll probably never hook up with again. That way I know there won’t be rumors about it around here, and it will have less meaning.” No risk of me falling for a tall, handsome stranger if I know I’ll never see him again.
Becky’s lips twitch. “Good,” she says. “Then I’m glad I did it.”
“Did what?”
Becky gets up from the sofa and rushes back to her bedroom. She’s back in two seconds, holding out a golden envelope, embossed with my name in diamantes. I take it from her, and the thick golden paper is waxy beneath my touch. “What’s this?”
“It’s an invitation,” Becky says, and wriggles on the spot as if she’s got to pee. Or as if she’s got the best secret in the world and I’m about to find out what it is. “This is the best thing that will ever happen to you. Open it.”
I turn the envelope over and brush my fingers over its back, and to the small diamond – is that a real one?! – attached to its back. I open it carefully, and it comes free with a small tick.
Inside, I find a single sheet of paper.
Miss Heather Henderson,
You are formally invited to join us for the Halloween Party on Mystique Island. Masks will be required at all times during the course of your stay over the weekend. All clothing, food, and accommodation will be provided for you.
Welcome to the sexiest event of your life.
“What is this?” I ask, and flap the letter at her. “Becky?”
“It’s a sex party,” she replied.
“Are you – are you crazy?!”
“No.” Becky sits down beside me and offers me a smile fraught with ‘naughty’ intent. “Every few months, Mystique Island throws an event like this.”
“An event.”
“Yes, basically, Mystique is owned by a billionaire and he invites all his billionaire buddies to the island for parties like this. The rich dudes pay for everything, and if you’re lucky enough to get an invitation, you get an all-expenses paid vacation for three days on a Caribbean island.”
My brow wrinkles. “What’s the catch? You have to have sex with them? That sounds a little like – you know.”
“No, it’s not like that. You can have sex if you want to, and that’s encouraged. The more partners the better, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Pleasure comes in many forms. That’s what they say at initiation, anyway.” Becky takes both my hands in hers and squeezes. “I really want you to do this with me. I had to pull serious strings to get you an invite on short notice. Please, please, come with me. It will be the perfect way for you to lose your v-card and have some fun.”
“I don’t know,” I say, and look down at the letter.
It has a certain allure, the gold, the diamonds, and the idea of getting away, maybe even losing this damn virginity.
“It’s one hundred percent safe,” Becky says. “They do tests before you get access to the island to make sure everyone’s clean. And birth control is a requirement. You’re already on it, right?”
I am on it – I started it in high school on my mother’s insistence. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“So?” Becky asks, and elbows me.
The page flick-flacks in my hand. I nod, slowly. “Yeah, all right,” I say, at last, and I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this. Have I lost it?
Not yet. But maybe on Mystique Island, you’ll have the chance.