“There’s nothing wrong with me other than I turn around and your schlong is hanging out with a girl’s mouth attached to the end,” I said, picking up my beer. “Other than that, I’m good.”

I could feel him eyeing me. “Come on, man, it’s me. Tell me what’s bugging you.” He held up his hand with three fingers extended like a Boy Scout taking an oath. “I promise, I won’t give you any shit.”

I took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. I held out my hand to gesture at the room, which was now packed to the gills and buzzing like a beehive with naked women and drunk, horny men. “Why am here?”

He frowned at me like I was speaking French. “What?”

“Why am I here?” I asked, my hands cutting the air. “I mean, what’s the point?”

He turned sideways in the booth to face me, putting his back to Jimmy, who was still watching the crowd like a pit bull looking for something to kill. Tony said, “The point is free pussy and booze, cuz. The point is to enjoy being young and rich and have a great fucking time doing anything fucking thing you wanna do. I don’t understand, you used to love this shit.”

I shrugged. He was right. I did enjoy it at one time, and I wasn’t sure why I wasn’t enjoying it now. I blew all the air out of my lungs and shook my head. “I don’t know, Tony. Maybe I’m growing up.”

He leaned in toward me and growled like a wolf toying with its prey. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Maybe it’s time.”

I watched the crowd while he watched me. He tapped his glass on the table for a minute, then poked me with his finger. “So, what you’re telling me is that you want something more than this. Because this doesn’t do it for you anymore.”

“Something like that,” I said.

“I know what you need,” he said, slamming the glass on the table so hard it made Jimmy glance over his shoulder at us. Tony scooted up next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. He pulled me close and whispered in my ear.

“I know what you need, cuz,” he said, his breath hot on my cheek.

I leaned away to look at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You need some virgin pussy, my friend,” he said, giving my shoulders a shake. “Some fresh meat to give you a fresh perspective. And I know just how to get you some.”

CHAPTER FIVE: Katrina

Because it was Sunday night, I helped close the bar around ten and was in bed by eleven. My father and I didn’t say another word to each other, probably because there was nothing left to say. He came upstairs and did his thing and I did mine. When he plopped down on the couch with a six-pack of Coors and the TV remote in his hand, I wen

t into my room and locked the bedroom door, something I’d never felt the need to do before.

I didn’t think anyone was going to break in and harm me, at least not yet, but I felt better knowing that the lock might at least slow someone down until I could call 911. I set my cellphone on the nightstand and plugged in the charger without turning off the phone. I usually turned it off at night to recharge, but not anymore. You can call me paranoid. I call it being prepared.

I took off all my clothes and put on my pajamas and slid under the covers. I was exhausted, as if I’d spent the day pushing boulders up hills rather than pushing drinks at patrons. Stress can do that to you, I supposed, suck the life right out of you like cancer sucked the life from my mom. I could just picture her looking down from Heaven, furious at my dad for what he’d done to me; for what he’d done to himself. She always loved him regardless of his flaws. I wondered if she was still alive if she would support him now. Probably so. She was always much more tolerant and forgiving of him than her daughter would ever be.

I cried for a while, feeling sorrow for myself, and loathing and fear for my dad. Once I had no more tears to give, I tossed and turned for a couple of hours, unable to shut off my brain so I could fall asleep. When I did start to drift off, the conversation I’d had with Bethany started replaying in my mind.

Her question took me aback at first. Was I still a virgin? Really, at a time like this, you’re going to give me shit because I don’t fuck every guy who looks at me like you do?

That’s what I wanted to say to her, but didn’t because I didn’t want to get into it with her again over my virginity. She knew I was still a virgin. We’d had this conversation dozens of times before. It was always the same.

“Would you please fuck somebody already,” she’d say. Then the rant would begin. “You’ll be amazed at how much better you feel once your cherry is popped! Maybe it’ll loosen your tight ass up a little bit. I promise you, Kitty Kat, it’ll feel so fucking good you’ll wanna do it over and over again! And I can teach you how to suck a dick so good that it’ll literally make any guy your slave. Men think with their cocks. You make a man cum until he thinks his head is gonna explode and he’ll follow you around like a puppy. Get that cherry popped, bitch! Spread those legs and put out the ‘open for business’ sign!”

Bethany was such a whore and far from a poet, but she was probably right. I had so much sexual tension built up in my body that sometimes I thought I might explode. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude, nor have I been saving myself for marriage based off some misguided religious or moral grounds. I was a virgin for two reasons: lack of opportunity and lack of a man who I wanted to fuck. That’s it. There were lots of guys who would have gladly popped my cherry over the years, but I’d never met a guy I would offer the opportunity to, and I wasn’t going to let a guy pop my cherry just because it needed to be popped. And it wasn’t about love or any of that sappy shit. It was about desire and passion. When I do give my virginity away it would be because I wanted the man so badly I couldn’t hold back, not because Bethany told me it would make me feel better, like popping a fat pimple on your nose just to relieve the pressure.

It wasn’t Bethany’s question about my virginity that was keeping me awake. It was what she told me afterward that had me so restless, the reason behind the question.

“There’s this auction,” she said, glancing around the bar to make sure no one was listening. “They do it every few months at this big estate outside of town. Rich guys bid on the girl’s virginity. A hundred thousand dollars is the starting bid. Sometimes it goes into the hundreds of thousands. The guy who bids the highest gets the girl for the whole weekend and she has to do whatever he says sexually, within reason, of course. Violence is not allowed, but some light BDSM is.”

“BDSM? What’s that?” I asked, feeling a little like I’d been living under a rock all my life.

“Bondage, discipline, sadomasochism,” she explained as casually as if we were talking about the weather. “He’s buying the right to pop her cherry. And paying dearly for the opportunity. If he wants to tie her up and gag her, that’s allowed, but nothing that would cause serious injury or leave permanent marks.”

Tags: Mia Ford Romance
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