The Virgin Romance Novelist Page 2

  “Awww,” Delaney dragged out, while clearly pleased; I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

  “Gross, you get boners from hearing Delaney have sex?”

  He shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. “It just happens. Doesn’t mean I want Delaney, no offense,” he said apologetically. “I’m a guy, I get a boner over side boob…anything can turn me on, really.”

  “Interesting,” I thought to myself. I really needed to start reading more erotic, modern novels because the fluffy stories my mom introduced me to were not teaching me half the stuff I needed to know. I needed a Kindle.

  “Alright, you’re all set. Your username is your email and your password is ‘takemyflower’ all one word.”

  “Clever,” I said sarcastically, as I took the tablet from him and looked over my profile. “What now?”

  “The system will match you up with someone and you can talk online. If you find enough interests, you can start going on dates. Pretty simple,” Henry explained.

  “Do I search for guys?”

  “They will come to you,” Henry laughed. Just relax for now and let things happen.

  “This will be great,” Delaney clapped her hands together. “Make sure to keep a journal of everything you go through, all your feelings, because you’re going to want to refer back to your experiences. Oooh, this is like an experiment,” Delaney said with a little too much excitement in her voice.

  “Glad I can entertain you, but if you two don’t mind, I think I’m going to get back to my writing.”

  Henry cringed and said, “Hold off on the briar patch for now.”

  “Do we need to go over lady-scaping?” Delaney asked with a brow raised.

  “No, I’ve got that handled ever since freshman year when you called me out in the gym.” Another disservice my mother did to me.

  “Well, don’t be sporting a bush…”

  “Delaney, please!” I pleaded, while Henry laughed.

  “Ah, Rosie, I love you,” he said, while pulling me into his chest and kissing me on the head. “Those traditional parents of yours really did a number on you. Do they still sleep in separate beds?”

  I nodded as I thought about my parents who were stuck in the fifties. They had separate beds still, believed in the man providing for the family and the women tending to the home, as well as not ever speaking of intercourse; hence my disconnect with the whole concept. Although, my mom was very fond of matchmaking.

  The only reason I have a fascination with the genre of books I read was because of my mom and her secret novels she kept under her bed. They used words like “sex” to describe a lady’s genitals and “sword” for a man’s penis. Those novels were my only window to the crazy world of sex.

  Feeling energized and apprehensive at the same time, I said good night to my roommates and took off for my room, hoping someone on the website would find me attractive enough to take out to dinner. Even though I was inexperienced with the opposite sex, I still craved the feel of a relationship, of a man’s touch, of a kiss. It was an aspect of my life that I was sorely missing, and Delaney and Henry were right, maybe once I experienced the real deal, I would be able to put all my emotions into my writing and actually make a name for myself, other than Cat Crap Extraordinaire.

  Chapter Two

  The Virgin Bullet

  “I swear to God, if you don’t stop licking yourself, I’m going to take that sand paper tongue of yours and snip it off with a pair of scissors, and you know what? I’ll enjoy doing it, too!” I shouted to Sir Licks-a-Lot, the orange tabby who insists upon hanging out in my office around one every day for his daily bath regimen.

  “What did I tell you about talking to the cats?” Jenny, my co-worker, asked as she stood in my doorway. “It’s not healthy, Rosie.”

  “Nothing about this office is healthy,” I said, while I had a stare down with Sir Licks-a-Lot. “Stop staring at me with your tongue half out; it’s creepy!”

  As if he owned my office and everything in it, he sat up straight while maintaining eye contact with me, puffed his chest out, and then yacked up a hair ball, right on my desk.

  “Eck, gross!” I screamed, as I backed away from the orange puke ball.

  With a smarmy look on his face, he lifted his paw, wiped his mouth, and then jumped off my desk.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Jenny, who was on the floor laughing at me. “I think he gave me the middle finger while wiping his mouth.”

  “Cat’s don’t have fingers,” Jenny corrected in between giggles.

  “Middle claw then, he gave me something, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you going to clean that up?” Jenny asked, while pulling herself off the floor and into one of the cat scratched chairs that sat in front of my desk.

  “Nope, planned on saving it for dinner,” I stated sarcastically.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  I grabbed a wet nap from my desk; I kept a stock pile of them in there for this very reason, cleaned up the hair ball, and threw it into my trash can, hating every aspect of my life in the process.

  Deflated, I leaned back in my chair and said, “Don’t you get tired of being in this office? The cats are starting to drive me insane. This can’t be sanitary.”

  “Hey, just be happy you’re not an intern whose duties are feeding the cats, grooming the cats and making sure the litter boxes are always clean in the shit room.”

  The shit room.

  I’ve only been in there once, and it was because it was my first day and I was getting a tour of the office. The offensive cat pee smell was so awful that I have yet to even go near the room since. The shit room was where all of the litter boxes were held, and I’m not talking about the little tray litter boxes, I’m talking litter boxes the size of a ship from BattleStar Galactica. They were perched on different shelves and different levels of the room. It was an intern’s nightmare.

  “How do we even hold interns for so long?”

  “Desperate college students,” Jenny replied, while looking down at her nails. “They will do anything to get an in with a print magazine these days, even if it means being a walking scratching post.”

  “That reminds me, did a shipment of Cat Emery Boards come in for me? I’m supposed to do some kind of exposé on them, but have yet to receive the box.”

  “Not that I know of, but you can ask Susan up front; she’s the one who handles all the UPS shipments, which, by the way, did you see her outfit the other day? She was in full on slutty Grandma mode.”

  Susan was our receptionist, certifiable crazy cat lady herself, who had a major crush on the UPS man. Whenever she knew he was coming in, she donned her red lipstick that always wound up on her teeth, her blue eye shadow, which was sixty years too young for her, and a low cut top that always seemed to wreak havoc with her old lady bras.

  “I didn’t; I was interviewing a shelter downtown. What was she wearing?”

  Jenny leaned forward and looked over her shoulder at Susan who was picking at her teeth with a toothpick. In a hushed voice she said, “She had on a Hannah Montana shirt with a low cut neckline that she must have created herself and a pair of purple pleather pants.”

  “I don’t think I can believe you right now,” I said, trying to hold in my laughter.

  With a smirk on her face, Jenny pulled out her phone and showed me a candid picture she took of Susan talking to the UPS man with her belly hanging out the front of her Hannah Montana shirt and purple pants.

  “Oh, my God,” I said, while covering my mouth. “That is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I was about to grab the phone for a closer look when Sir Licks-A-Lot jumped on my desk and started using my keyboard as a scratching post.

  “Eh, get out of here. Pssst!” I tried to shoo him away.

  He scrambled off of my desk, but not before popping off the “d” on my keyboard and taking it with him.

  “That little bastard!” I yelled, as he scurried out the door, but not before smiling back a
t me with the “d” in his mouth. “He now has my d and my e. How the hell am I supposed to write up and coming cat articles in an environment like this?”

  Shaking her head and laughing, Jenny said, “He only hates you, you know that right?”

  “I stepped on his tail once, by accident. Is he going to hold that against me for my entire life?”

  “Pretty sure he is. Hey, what do you suppose he’s trying to spell?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, he has your d and e, he must be trying to spell something.”

  “Probably ‘die, bitch, die,” I joked, mainly joked.

  “He would need too many i’s for that.”

  “Well, let me know if you see other keyboards being scratched to death, we can try to break his code before he acts.”

  “Will do,” Jenny said with a smile. “So, I came in here to ask you something.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t like that look on your face.”

  Jenny held up her hand and said, “Before you say no, please just hear me out. I know you’re not into the whole blind date thing, but I know this guy who would be perfect for you.”

  “Jenny…” I drawled out.

  I dated, but I never blind dated. I wasn’t really into the possible awkward moment scene where you meet the blind date and see that not only is he a foot shorter than you were told, but he also had a pet mole on his chin that winked at you every time he smiled.

  “Hold on, before you say no. I have to tell you that he’s not like Marcus.”

  Marcus was the last guy she set me up with, the chin mole winker.

  “He’s Drew’s friend and is new to town. We said we would take him out to have some fun and thought that you would want to go with us. We’re going swing dancing…”

  Damn her, damn her to hell! She knew I loved a good swing dance and it was very rare that I got to go because I never could find a partner, one that was semi-decent, anyway.

  “He knows how to swing dance?”

  “Some call him Fred Astaire,” Jenny said, while wiggling her eyebrows.

  “You thought Marcus looked like Andy Garcia, when in real life he looked like PeeWee Herman, so excuse me if I can’t fully trust your opinion.”

  “I told you, I was drunk when I first met Marcus, okay? I had my tequila goggles on. I apologized for that, can we move on now?”

  “Fine. When do you want to go out?” I asked, feeling apprehensive, but somewhat excited about a possible date.

  “This Friday,” she squealed while clapping her hands.

  Thinking about my options, I nodded my head and pointed my finger at her before she got too excited. “Don’t make this a big deal. I’m only going because I haven’t been swing dancing in a while.”

  “Eeeeee!” she squealed again, while clapping and bouncing her feet up and down. “You’re going on a date!”

  “You exhaust me,” I said, while pointing for her to leave. “I have to finish this article if I want to get out of here at a decent hour, and before Sir Licks-a-Lot comes back to plot my death.”

  Nodding, she got up and clasped her hands by her chest. “You’re going to love Atticus!”

  “Atticus?” I asked, but she left before she could answer my question.

  Just from his name I was already starting to feel nervous about Friday and who this Atticus might be. Jenny, bless her heart, had great intentions, but her blind dates were usually picked up from the corner of Creepy Court and Loser Lane, but that was because they were usually her boyfriend’s friends, who he himself wasn’t much of a winner, not that I could judge much. I had pretty much been on a handful of dates my entire life. I’m the friend, never the girlfriend, and I was okay with that until I realized I’m twenty-three, still a virgin, and as sexually inexperienced as a tween with Justin Bieber posters covering her walls.

  I finished up my work, avoided the stares of Sir Licks-a-Lot and his posse, who seemed to be crowding in the corner, writing a game plan on the wall with their nails, while passing around a ball of catnip. I instantly felt nervous for my keyboard and just prayed it made it through the night.

  As I took the subway home, I thought about my life situation. I was currently being bullied by a twenty pound tabby cat with the devil in his eyes; my job, which paid the bills, was horrifying to have on my resume as a real life job, and my sex life was non-existent. I needed a change and big time.

  I’m in my twenties, I should be out perusing the sexual dating pot of overeager gentlemen and horny homies that New York City has to offer, instead of dating my book boyfriends, even though they were the only kind of men who could truly satisfy me. They were perfect.

  The eclectic people of the subway flowed in and out of the train, listening to music on their phones, texting, and some were even making out in the corner. Being the pervert I was, I watched the couple making out with fascination, how their hands ran up and down each other’s bodies, how they barely came up to breathe…

  I want that! I want to know what it was like to stick my tongue down a guy’s throat. I want to know what it looks like to see a boner in live action, instead of just reading about it. If I’m going to get out of the crazy cat lady life I’m living and finally write the romance novel I’ve been working on for years, then I need to experience life; I need to have sex!

  With renewed vigor, I walked off the subway, up to my apartment, and into my room. I was going to make a game plan on how to lose my virginity. Delaney was right, I needed to start experimenting, getting myself out there and taking notes, because when I was finally ready to have a man bee pollinate my flower, I wanted to remember everything about it.

  Dropping my purse on the side table, I grabbed some water from the fridge and went to my bedroom, where there was a little gift bag sitting on my bed with a note. I closed my door and flopped on my bed, wondering what one of my roommates had left me. I opened the card and read it out loud.

  “Time to find your big ‘O’. Love you, Henry.”

  Confused, I dug through the bag and pulled out a little pink nugget the size of a bullet and a kindle that had a note on it saying it was fully stocked. My heart fluttered at the gift of books, but then observed the nugget, wondering what it was.

  “What the hell?”

  I twisted it in my hand and it immediately started vibrating, sending the searing color of red to my face.

  Henry got me a vibrator. A vibrator! What the hell was I supposed to do with a vibrator?

  “Henry?” I called out to the apartment with the bullet in my hand, looking around for my roommates, but no one was home. I went to Henry’s room, where there was a note hanging on the door.

  Rosie – won’t be home until late tonight, turn down the lights, get naked and have some fun. Love you – Henry P.S. I hope I loaded some good books; I picked all the ones with half naked men on the front. Thought those would be inspiring.

  “Oh, my God, I hate him,” I said, as I stormed off to my bedroom and slammed my door shut.

  I tossed the bullet back in the bag, but left the Kindle on my nightstand, still giddy about that gift but irritated about the other. I went to my desk, where I pulled out a fresh notebook and wrote, “My Sex Diary” on the front. Feeling already accomplished with my progress, I opened the notebook and started writing.

  June 2, 2014

  I saw a couple making out on the subway today…

  For at least five minutes, I sat and stared at my first journal entry, not knowing what else to write. I was so lame. If this wasn’t an indication of how much I needed to venture out of my comfort zone, then I didn’t know what was. My annoyance with Henry started to wear off as I realized I might just need the unwarranted help he was offering. I could feel the gift bag on my bed begging to be opened again, to be played with. Damn it.

  I eyed the bag, thinking that it might not be a bad thing to try; it was a new experience, it could help clue me in on what to expect of what’s to come.

  Taking a deep breath, I set my pen down,
went to my door and called out to my roommates once again; no one responded, indicating that I was home alone. I shut the door and turned toward my bed, eyeing the bag once again.

  I can do this, I told myself, as I went over to the bag and pulled out the little vibrator, wondering why Henry got such a small one. The only conclusion I could come to was because I was a virgin and didn’t have much experience with longer man items.

  The wool of my skirt was rather itchy, so I decided in order to test my sexuality, I had to be comfortable. With that solid idea, I tore off my skirt and tucked in button up shirt and put on a long, oversized shirt that had a giant cat on the front. Yeah, I liked a free shirt from work; I was okay with it. Shucking my underwear, I tossed it into my hamper with the skillful deft of my big toe and fist pumped the air while I made my way to the bed.

  The bed squeaked as I sat down and got into position, which basically was me flopping around on my bed like a whale until I was comfortable. I scooted the gift bag onto the floor and grabbed the vibrator in my right hand, thinking I would use it more skillfully with my dominant hand.

  Carefully, I examined the little mechanism and turned it on. It shook in my hand, making me giggle at how powerful the actual thing was for being so small.

  “I guess size really doesn’t matter,” I said to myself, as I closed my eyes and brought the bullet down to my vagina. I hovered over my lady area for a good couple of minutes, wondering if the bullet was going to turn off from no action.

  “I can do this,” I said as I took a deep breath and spread my legs wide on the bed so they were almost hanging off each side. The wider the better, I suppose.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I spoke to no one, as my other hand rested on my forehead. “Just do it,” I chastised.

  Gritting my teeth, I gripped the bullet with my index finger and thumb and inserted the bullet into my vagina. Thank God for tampons, because I was easily able to locate the hole. Vibrations instantly ran through my lower half, making me squeal.