Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
As soon as we start out, he takes my hand, holding it lightly, casually, in his warm hand. It feels strange, maybe because it was unexpected.
There are flowering bushes along the path, and I can hear the waves crashing into shore, though I can no longer see them the further we get away from the restaurant’s lights. It’s a nice night, and part of me is thrilled to be sharing it with a date, but another part of me can’t seem to relax.
I’m too much in my own head. What if we do go out again? At what point would I tell him I’m a virgin?
We’re approaching a bench when Tom asks, “Would you like to sit for a while?”
I’m enjoying the walk even though my shoes are starting to pinch my toes, but I nod and he steers us toward the seat. After I sit, he settles in close, with hardly any space between us, and drapes his arm over my shoulder.
Like the hand-holding, it feels strange, foreign, unfamiliar. I guess that’s to be expected.
“Dinner was good. Did you like it?” he asks, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
“Maybe we could go back sometime.”
“That would be nice.”
He turns toward me and brushes hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. I stiffen involuntarily. I don’t mean to, but I’m not sure I’m ready for him to be so close.
His nose lightly touches my cheek, his breath warm on my neck. “You smell good.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my response also coming automatically.
His lips graze my jawline, and then he turns my face to his and he’s kissing me, his lips on mine, pressing gently. When I realize my body is stiff with tension, I make an effort to relax. His mouth tastes of beer and his hand is sliding down my arm.
Just as I’m beginning to enjoy the kiss, his tongue pushes into my mouth and his hand edges under my breast. I pull back, trying to put some distance between us.
“Don’t worry, no one’s around.” His mouth is back on mine and his hand clamps onto my hip possessively.
I shove him away. “Stop!”
“What’s wrong with you?” His lip is curled in disgust.
“I … I don’t want to do this.”
“What are you, some frigid bitch?” He looks me up and down, and shakes his head dismissively. “I don’t need this. Have a good life.” The words are hurled like weapons before he turns and heads back toward the restaurant alone, straightening his shirt and adjusting his collar, as if he was the one who’d just been mauled.
I sit for several minutes, not wanting any risk of running into him in the parking lot. When I finally start out, my strides are long, fueled by anger, but when I reach my car and am safely inside, sadness, self-doubt, and pity come rushing in.
The restaurant is still busy, so I leave their lot, but instead of going straight home I detour into a nearly empty beach parking lot where I can have some privacy. I grab a pile of napkins from the glove compartment and let the tears come.
I’m such an idiot. I should have told Tom up front that I would need to go slow, but I had no idea he’d be diving into physical things so soon. I know it was just kissing, but it was so aggressive – with the tongue, and the touching. Sobs keep coming, and I let them. I wait for their release to make me feel better, but it never happens. Instead, I feel numb.
At home, I’m so grateful to find that my parents are out for the night. The last thing I want to do is have to explain why my eyes are puffy and my makeup is smeared. After cleaning my face and brushing my teeth to try to wash away the sour taste of Tom’s kiss, I wrap myself in my softest blanket, sit back against my headboard and turn on the TV.
It crosses my mind to call Olivia, but I’m feeling like too much of a failure. I know that somehow I could have handled tonight differently and things could have gone better. I’ll fill her in about it sometime soon, but right now, it’s too raw. I’d probably just cry if I tried to talk about it.
I scroll through the menu and find my favorite episode of The Office, the one that opens with the hilarious and chaotic scene of Dwight starting a fire as a misguided safety drill. I usually laugh out loud every time I watch it, but today I’m grateful when the first scene pulls a hint of a smile out of me – that’s more than I was expecting.
After the opener, though, my mind wanders. Should I have been more receptive to what Tom was doing? Maybe I am frigid, like he said.