Screwed (V-Card Diaries 2)

Prologue

From Harlow Raine’s TOP SECRET Diary

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Dear Diary,

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It’s just a penis. A cock. A dick.

There are literally millions of them in this city and it’s not like I’m looking for Mr. Right. I just want a dude bro who knows what he’s doing in the bedroom, with a personality just obnoxious enough to keep me from falling for the guy.

You would think that kind of casual bang-buddy situation would be an easy thing to find.

You would, sadly, be wrong.

Let’s look to the dating log for all the depressing details, shall we?

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Brad One: Emotional. Cried easily. Allergic to synthetic fabrics. Or possibly was using his “fabric allergy” to excuse his second crying fit. Wanted to hold my hand fifteen minutes after meeting and kissed my forehead twice.

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My thoughts: Feelings are not on my radar right now, tears make me nauseous, and forehead kisses are creepy on a first date.

* * *

V-Card Status: Still Un-punched

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Steve: Referred to breasts as “tiddies.” Kept wanting to talk about fishing. Hit the bathroom right before the check arrived and stayed there until I paid, making me think he was waiting to return until the bill was taken care of.

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So, yeah, this douchebag was in the running…right up until he gave his leftovers to a homeless man outside the restaurant and offered to buy drinks and dessert at the bar across the street since I covered dinner.

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My thoughts: These small kindnesses weren’t much, but they were enough to make me fear falling prey to First Dick Fever like so many of the Raine women before me

.

What is First Dick Fever you may ask?

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First Dick Fever (aka FDF)—Noun—falling stupidly and irreversibly in love with the first man to put in more than “just the tip.” A malady that slowly kills your single hopes and dreams and for which there is currently no known cure.

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My mother married her first dick and has remained locked in fractious matrimony with my father for nearly thirty years, despite the fact that they can’t go more than an hour without shouting at each other until they’re red in the face.

She says “verbal sparring” is their love language.

I say she’s got a bad case of FDF.

First Dick Fever also came for my cousin, Sheila, who followed her first cock to the Philippines, where she now lives in a tiny apartment with Joshua and his big sister, Jane, who hates Sheila like a lollipop covered in dog hair and keeps trying to scare her off by putting hissing roaches in her shoes.

Ditto for my big sister, Lauren, who was knocked up by her first dick at seventeen and subsequently gave up her scholarship to Cornell to stay in New Jersey and help her now husband, Chuck, run his family’s plumbing business.

And, sure, Lauren seems happy enough for a woman with three kids under the age of ten—albeit permanently exhausted—but I can’t help but wonder what her life would be like if she hadn’t let Chuck’s dick shape the course of her future.

This is why I have to be careful.

I have big dreams and none of them include settling for the first trouser snake that slithers along. I’m one of the only women in the most challenging forensic accounting master’s program in the country. I’m determined to graduate top of my class and land an incredible first position, one I’ll choose based on my own preferences, not the needs of a partner who wants to stay close to his family or his own (likely lower paying) job.

And when it comes to significant others, I want my future husband and I to have a top-notch sex life, and how the hell will I know if it’s The Stuff if I have nothing to compare it to?

Nope.

One and done isn’t the path for this Raine woman. I’m glad my mom and sister are happy with their lots in life, but I refuse to be derailed by a case of FDF.

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Which brings us back to Steve, and why he had to go.

His flicker of human decency wasn’t much, but it was enough to be dangerous. On the off chance that a close encounter with his dick would be enough to convince me that “tiddies” was an acceptable term for breasts, I had to make a swift escape.

I thanked him for a nice night, pretended to have tragic diarrhea, and left.

Useful takeaway: Mention of diarrhea—especially a tragic case—on the first date is an excellent way to ensure a man never calls again.

V-Card Status: Un-punched.

* * *

Carl: Picked his nose in public. Twice.

V-Card Status: Grossed Out.

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Kyle: Called me Snow White, presumably because of my pale skin and dark brown hair. Spanked my ass within five minutes of starting our walk around Central Park, told me I smelled like asparagus, but in “the good way,” and then picked his nose in public.