“You were talking to that slutty looking girl again?” My mom asks, as soon as I’m in the car. “About what? This is not the first time I’ve seen her chatting you up. Why does she always want to talk to you? Is she trying to corrupt you?”
My mom’s questions always make her seem like a fly I can’t manage to swat away for good, no matter how many times I try. She inevitably comes buzzing back to pester me some more.
I think about telling her the truth. I’d love to see the look on her face. But then she’d drive me straight to church, and I just want to get home to my room— the one place she doesn’t bug me with questions. She thinks I’m studying but I’m usually writing in my “diary” and then tearing it all to shreds.
So, I just tell her, “Nothing, Mom. Can we please go now?”
“Should I go talk to her and tell her you’re a sweet, innocent girl who doesn’t appreciate someone wearing that outfit trying to influence your decisions in this evil world?”
Mom scowls as she looks up and down at Diana’s short black skirt and tight neon pink tank top that shows off her busty cleavage. It’s a bold fashion choice—80’s-esque— but no more “revealing and immodest,” as my mother would call it—
than anything anyone else wears around here in the summer. I’m sure Diana was just trying to catch Dr. Calvert’s attention by dressing that way.
“Mom, please,” I tell her. “We were only talking about the professor’s lecture, that’s all. Let’s just go.”
“So, this is a psychology class?” Mom asks, for the millionth time.
“Yes,” I confirm, which is only half true.
I’m not going to tell her it’s evolutionary psychology. From sixth grade—when middle school started, through twelfth grade— when senior high ended, she pulled me out of any science course that taught evolution, so this course is as close as I’ve come to learning anything about the theory. If she knew that not only was I learning about any kind of evolution but also that the kind I was learning about involved sex, she would probably pull me out of college completely.
“I need to look into whatever crazy new age theories they might be teaching you,” she replies. “But not tonight. Right now, I need to stop at the store to pick up bananas, socks and my medicine.”
I roll my eyes. I know how necessary it is for her to go to the store— I’d hate to see her off her crazy meds, let alone ranting about her feet being cold if she doesn’t get her random need for new socks fulfilled— but I really don’t want to go.
“Mom, I have to study,” I groan.
It’s true, even though I’ve done most of it during my breaks in between classes. Since Mom drops me off at campus and picks me back up, I have to take the bus if I want to go anywhere in between classes. So, it’s usually easier to just sit in the food court or walk across the street to Campus Coffee— the knock off Starbucks that caters to college students like me who are too poor to afford the real thing— and study there.
“Fine, I’ll drop you off and be right back,” she says, as if I’ll be pining away for her in her absence.
Of course, quite the opposite is true. A chill runs down my spine at the opportunity to be home alone without my mother’s constant presence and incessant questions. Since I’m burning up with desire after my confession to Diana about what I’d like to be done to me, I can’t wait to entertain my fantasies in private. And I can only do that when my mom’s not home.
So, I do it every chance I get, which isn’t often, since my super religious and overly strict mom is almost always there keeping a watchful eye over me. I’ve been so horny that it’s driving me crazy.
Since I can’t actually have sex, or my mom will kill me, or at the very least she would cut me off financially, when I can’t afford college tuition, let alone my own place without her, I have no choice but to do what she says. Therefore, I remain a 19- year- old virgin. But only physically. In my mind, in private, I escape to very dirty places.
No one would understand what it’s like to want to have sex and not be able to. People assume I’m so chaste— even Diana confirmed that just now with her “holier than thou” assessment of me— but the truth is, if they knew my thoughts, they’d think I was depraved and deranged. I only let Diana in on the half of it when I decided to spill some of my private fantasies to her. And if she knew who I wanted to carry them out, she would think I was too dirty even for her tastes.
That’s why in addition to having sex, I never even talk about it. Except right now, with Diana, which surprised me, but I’m mostly glad I did. It’s nice to know someone else can relate. But it sure has revved me up for some private time to explore my deepest, darkest fantasies. I have a feeling that it’s going to be so good I’m going to forget I’m all alone, rather than with the guy I really wish was fulfilling them.