I just discovered that honesty is not the best policy. No, the truth can get you in a shitload of trouble if said honesty is shared with the wrong people, in the wrong place, and at the wrong time. Like five minutes ago, when I wrote the number ‘0’ on that bright pink sticky note. I should have left the piece of paper blank, or declined to participate, or even better, I could have just written the number ‘1’.

How bad would a white lie have been at a time like this, anyway?

I’m at a half-empty strip club on ladies’ night, for Christ’s sake.

Four days before Christmas.

This should be a safe place to tell the truth, but I realize now that I’ve baited myself, and lying was realistically the best option. I’m surrounded by nine women who are all here in celebration for the bachelorette party I organized for my sister, Dina, before she gets married on Christmas Day, no less. For as long as I can remember, Dina has dreamed of a Christmas wedding. She wants everything white, snowy and sparkly, and that is what she’ll get.

Tonight though, is all about getting a little wild and a bit dirty. We’ve been throwing back shots, dancing, and ogling the male strippers on the main stage of the Blue Bayou strip club.

We’ve also been playing party games. They were fun right up until ten minutes ago when I passed the reins to Veronica, the resident hot blonde girl with big blue eyes, a healthy helping of boobs and long legs, who can pretty much get any man she wants anywhere she goes. She decides that we need to play a weird version of Have I Ever. Except in Veronica’s game, the rules are different. All ten of us have to play at the same time, by writing down our honest answer to one question and placing the handwritten responses in Dina’s cock-shaped party hat. The question is, how many times have we each had an orgasm as a result of a man’s mouth traveling south. My sister, as guest of honor, gets to pull each response from the hat, and she has to guess who wrote each answer.

Shit.

I should have written the number ‘1’, because it’s not just the case that I’ve never had an orgasm from below-the-belt action.

I’ve never had an orgasm.

Ever.

What’s worse is that my sister hones in on my answer like a dog with a bone. She is close enough to everyone to guess every answer correctly. My ‘0’ is her last guess, which isn’t really a guess, due to the obvious process of elimination. I have a perfectly good reason for my answer, and I’m dumb enough to explain it to Dina and her friends, thanks to all the shots I’ve already had. It’s because I happen to be a twenty-one-year-old virgin who has never ever messed around with a guy. I’ve kept that secret so close to my chest that even Dina didn’t know before tonight. It’s not that I’ve been going around telling people that I’m sexually active, but there’s a finality about sharing the harsh truth inside a strip club around the holidays. In this particular setting, people can’t help but want to do something about it, as though deflowering me would make for a special gift.

It irks me that Dina doesn’t flinch for Shelley’s ‘15’ or Veronica’s ‘too many to count’ answers. She has nothing to say for Melanie, who wrote ‘3, but 2 of those times were when my boyfriend used a vibrator’. Sure, those replies attract their fair share of chuckles, but my ‘0’ seems to evoke a silent confusion, followed by a rallying cry among our mostly inebriated group, one that screams ‘get Dakota to sit on a guy’s face before the night is over’.

“We’re serious,” Dina says to reiterate the comments by her excited mob clan of friends. “You can’t afford to let another day go by without finding out the joys of lip service between your legs.”

“Time to make your girly bits sing!” Shelley shouts, and I’m grateful the music in here is turned way up.

“Not gonna happen,” I say, shaking my head. “Not here, not now, not like this.”

I point to the stage, hoping they’ll turn their attention back to the firefighter stripper act. The ripped blond guy with the Santa hat has just thrown down his yellow fireman’s turnout jacket. He’s swinging his red suspenders around to get the women excited for the grand finale of dragging his pants off.

Leave it to Veronica to make my life more difficult at a time when I can be enjoying the show in peace.

“How about this, Dakota? The next guy that walks into this club gets to do you the honor.”

“Aww, hell no,” I say.

“How about, next cute guy who’s willing?”

“Do I look desperate to you?”

She studies me for a moment. “No, you don’t, but that’s the problem. If you knew what you were missing, you would be desperate. Come on, I’ll even help. I nominate myself to warm them up to the idea. Think of it as my Christmas gift.”

I signal to the waitress. I need drinks for everyone around the table except for me. At the moment, I’ll do anything to get them off my back.

“Two rounds of nine black Sambuca shots,” I tell the waitress who shows up in a skimpy green elf costume. It’s Dina’s favorite liqueur shot, so everyone at our table has been indulging.

“Right away,” she answers and returns to the bar with a smile on her face. I make a guess that she’s happy for the big order, and probably happier that we aren’t the usual rowdy male patrons who come in here and stuff dollar-bill tips in the waistbands of her teeny tiny boy shorts as a rule.

Dina turns to me. “You’ve got to do this, Dakota. I never realized you took your conservatism this far.”

“I’m not conservative,” I say in objection.

“Then, what would you call being a virgin at twenty-one? You do realize you’re in your third year of college, right? If you wait any longer, it’ll be weird and freaky.”

“I prefer not to label it.”

“Maybe this party is a blessing for you.” Dina’s gray eyes light up. “You owe me a party favor,” she says, eyes full of mischief. She reaches down to her purse and drags out the keys to her convertible. “And this is what I want. Veronica gets to ask the next acceptable guy who walks in, on your behalf, of course.” She dangles her car keys. “I’ll even let you get your cherry licked in my car, and you know how special it is to me.”

“Girl, have you gone and lost your mind?” I screech. “I’m not doing it. This is your bachelorette party. You’re the one with the license to misbehave one last time before your wedding. And you know what else? It’s all kinds of disturbing, having this conversation with you…my sister!”

“But you’re single. You can do what you want with whomever you want tonight. My vote is for you to go all the way.”

I shake my head. “Are you serious right now? I’m here for you, Dina, not to get my rocks off with some lowlife strip club patron who has to pay for a woman to give him a lap dance.” The waitress returns, and I hastily scoop up the two shots that she puts in front of my sister. “By the way, you’re cut off,” I tell her, knocking them back.

Dina gets to her feet. “That party favor is mine to use exactly the way I want,” she barks. “Everyone here agreed to it, including you. Sorry, sis. You don’t get to back out.” She straightens up, crosses her arms, and turns to face the club entrance. “Get ready, Dakota. You’re up for the next decent looking guy.”

I’m about to vehemently object when someone catches my eye at the front door. I immediately wave over to the waitress for another round. I ask for eleven drinks—three for me, and one for everyone but Dina. Thank goodness we booked a block of adjoining rooms at the hotel down the street.

Two drinks may not be enough.

Owen, my former neighbor and old high school crush, walks in wearing a Santa suit and a fake beard halfway down his face.