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Authors: Annabelle Costa
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reassurance.
He nodded. “I went to a urologist when I turned eighteen and he introduced me to . . . you know . . .”
“What?”
“Viagra.”
“Oh.” I always thought of Viagra as something that old men took. It was weird to think of someone young like Jason needing it. “So you’re avoiding the question. How many girls have you boinked?”
“Boinked?”
“You know what I mean. Fucked. Banged. Shtupped. Shagged. Whatever.”
“Shagged? Are you Austin Powers?”
“Stop stalling. Spill it, Fox.”
He hesitated. “Okay, two.”
“ Two ?” I had slept with nine times as many people as Jason had? That made me feel like the whore of Babylon.
“Well,” he said. “It’s different for me. I mean, you’re a hot girl and I’m . . . definitely not a hot girl. It’s a little harder for me to find women to have sex with.”
The idea of not being able to find someone to have sex with seemed so foreign to me. But I guessed he was right.
“Anyway,” he added. “Considering I don’t feel much, sex isn’t that incredibly important to me.” Then he grinned. “Actually, what I really like is eating girls out.”
I never admitted to Jason how much that last admission intrigued me. Especially since with all the guys I had slept with, I had never been on the receiving end of really great oral sex.
I’d like to say that after that night, I made an effort to sleep with fewer guys. But that didn’t happen. Things only started to taper off after I turned thirty. I think Jason has been keeping track, though, so like I said, he knows my secret number. He’s a little bit more close-lipped, so I’m not entirely sure about his anymore. I can ballpark it, though.
I’m fairly sure I’m going to end up sleeping with Larry. I can see it happening and I know he’ll call me the next day, and he probably isn’t ravaged by STDs or anything. Considering most of my relationships were a crazy emotional rollercoaster, it’s kind of a relief to be with Boring Larry.
Larry and I continue seeing each other. Sometimes he’s kind of maddening, but there are other times when he’s incredibly sweet. Just when I’d feel like I couldn’t stand it another second, he’d do something to redeem himself and make me think I was lucky to have him.
After we’ve been dating for a month, Larry and I are making out on his couch (he has an incredible apartment by Central Park, which is another plus for him). It’s that chaste, sweet making out, where neither of us are getting hot or sweaty. He pulls away from me and says, “Tasha, will you . . . ?”
I’m sure he’s going to say that he wants me to have sex with him, but then he says, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Wow. This is so . . . high school. I can’t remember the last time anyone explicitly asked me to be his girlfriend. Generally, you just kind of dated more and more often until it gradually became exclusive, and you had to decide if it would be too forward to change your Facebook status. But I have to admit, there’s something sweet about the way he asked.
“Okay,” I say, and his face lights up.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. “To be a good boyfriend?”
Again, I’m not sure if I want to kiss him or shake him. Instead, I say, “Well, maybe you could be a little more romantic.”
“Okay,” he says. “Um, what do you mean?”
“Like, you could buy me flowers.”
“Flowers, right,” Larry says, as if making a note of it in his head. Actually, I’m almost expecting him to whip out his laptop and start taking notes. Flowers for Tasha.
All of a sudden, I’m scared he’s going to go totally overboard with flowers, so I quickly say, “But not too often.”
“Oh, okay.”
“The important thing is to be spontaneous,” I say. “Like you know the movie Say Anything ?” Of course he doesn’t. “Well, anyway, there’s a scene in the movie where John Cusack stands outside his girlfriend’s window, holding up a boom box, playing a
He nodded. “I went to a urologist when I turned eighteen and he introduced me to . . . you know . . .”
“What?”
“Viagra.”
“Oh.” I always thought of Viagra as something that old men took. It was weird to think of someone young like Jason needing it. “So you’re avoiding the question. How many girls have you boinked?”
“Boinked?”
“You know what I mean. Fucked. Banged. Shtupped. Shagged. Whatever.”
“Shagged? Are you Austin Powers?”
“Stop stalling. Spill it, Fox.”
He hesitated. “Okay, two.”
“ Two ?” I had slept with nine times as many people as Jason had? That made me feel like the whore of Babylon.
“Well,” he said. “It’s different for me. I mean, you’re a hot girl and I’m . . . definitely not a hot girl. It’s a little harder for me to find women to have sex with.”
The idea of not being able to find someone to have sex with seemed so foreign to me. But I guessed he was right.
“Anyway,” he added. “Considering I don’t feel much, sex isn’t that incredibly important to me.” Then he grinned. “Actually, what I really like is eating girls out.”
I never admitted to Jason how much that last admission intrigued me. Especially since with all the guys I had slept with, I had never been on the receiving end of really great oral sex.
I’d like to say that after that night, I made an effort to sleep with fewer guys. But that didn’t happen. Things only started to taper off after I turned thirty. I think Jason has been keeping track, though, so like I said, he knows my secret number. He’s a little bit more close-lipped, so I’m not entirely sure about his anymore. I can ballpark it, though.
I’m fairly sure I’m going to end up sleeping with Larry. I can see it happening and I know he’ll call me the next day, and he probably isn’t ravaged by STDs or anything. Considering most of my relationships were a crazy emotional rollercoaster, it’s kind of a relief to be with Boring Larry.
Larry and I continue seeing each other. Sometimes he’s kind of maddening, but there are other times when he’s incredibly sweet. Just when I’d feel like I couldn’t stand it another second, he’d do something to redeem himself and make me think I was lucky to have him.
After we’ve been dating for a month, Larry and I are making out on his couch (he has an incredible apartment by Central Park, which is another plus for him). It’s that chaste, sweet making out, where neither of us are getting hot or sweaty. He pulls away from me and says, “Tasha, will you . . . ?”
I’m sure he’s going to say that he wants me to have sex with him, but then he says, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Wow. This is so . . . high school. I can’t remember the last time anyone explicitly asked me to be his girlfriend. Generally, you just kind of dated more and more often until it gradually became exclusive, and you had to decide if it would be too forward to change your Facebook status. But I have to admit, there’s something sweet about the way he asked.
“Okay,” I say, and his face lights up.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. “To be a good boyfriend?”
Again, I’m not sure if I want to kiss him or shake him. Instead, I say, “Well, maybe you could be a little more romantic.”
“Okay,” he says. “Um, what do you mean?”
“Like, you could buy me flowers.”
“Flowers, right,” Larry says, as if making a note of it in his head. Actually, I’m almost expecting him to whip out his laptop and start taking notes. Flowers for Tasha.
All of a sudden, I’m scared he’s going to go totally overboard with flowers, so I quickly say, “But not too often.”
“Oh, okay.”
“The important thing is to be spontaneous,” I say. “Like you know the movie Say Anything ?” Of course he doesn’t. “Well, anyway, there’s a scene in the movie where John Cusack stands outside his girlfriend’s window, holding up a boom box, playing a
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