My chest tightened, and tears welled in my eyes.
Cold dread came over me, because no solution was acceptable.
God, this hurt.
All the plans we made… New York. London. Japan.
Maybe those were just talk. Tate lived in a different stratosphere than me. He had the ability to go anywhere and do anything. But it wasn’t like I could really do the things we wrote down. My dad made enough to live on, and he was off-the-charts frugal, but his money was nothing like Tate’s family. And I didn’t have any money.
I’d always be George Bailey, dreaming about the round-the-world trip, but never being able to go.
So, maybe this was a cold dose of reality. My life wasn’t dreamy or romantic.
It had disappointments.
And my mom mattered more than anything I was feeling. She needed my care. I’d give it to her.
I flopped over and buried my face in my pillow.
My tears flowed.
They’re for my mom, I told myself. Because she’s sick.
No, I thought. Be honest. They’re for me.
Four
Douchebag Advice
Tate
In truth, while I had no expectation of getting Audrey naked tomorrow—or indeed any time soon—my anxiety about being a fumbling virgin had overtaken the normal functions of my brain, and I needed answers. My internet searches had given me few useful pointers. I was starting to get desperate.
It was in this vulnerable frame of mind while watching the Giants game on TV Friday night I asked my brothers, “Hypothetically, if I were to get laid, what moves do you recommend?”
Major tactical mistake.
About a year ago, I’d gone to a comedy club with my family, and the comedian chose my dad as his victim/target. Throughout the entire evening, the comedian would turn to my dad and make a comment like, “Isn’t that right, Al?” or “I bet your wife likes that, Al.” My good-natured dad had taken the ribbing in stride. I’d spent the entire evening grateful the comedian had skipped over me. Growing up with two older brothers, I didn’t need to voluntarily be the butt of a joke.
Because I could be one anytime they wanted.
Like now.
Both of them gaped at me as if they couldn’t believe I’d asked the question.
Then Perry, my middle brother, responded first, adopting a faux-professorial air. “The most important technique you need to know is how to properly lick her asshole.”
At those words, my eldest brother Bert laughed hard, and even I couldn’t help my snort. I set down my root beer, closed my eyes, and thought about faking my own death so I’d never have to face Perry or Bert or anyone else again.
Asking these jackasses was such a bad idea.
Perry lounged in Dad’s leather wingback chair in the den, pokerfaced, like the jerk hadn’t said anything crass, and sipped his ginger ale. Which he drank on the rocks in a crystal old-fashioned glass as if it were whiskey. While wearing striped, tailored pajamas and velvet house slippers. And a top hat. All he needed was an ascot and a pipe to be Hugh Hefner at the Playboy Mansion.
Perry. He was twenty, not seventy-five. He could be hilariously pretentious. Note to self: get him a smoking jacket for his birthday. Or a monocle.
After I wrung his neck.
But I was the one dumb enough to ask the question, and I’d expected the useless answer. I’d just hoped I’d get something more.
I sighed and shook my head, exasperated already. “Fuck off. I don’t believe you.”
“It’s how to ease a girl into losing her virginity,” Perry insisted, with a smirk he couldn’t hide despite trying.
“By rimming,” I said flatly. “You’re telling me to engage in rimming as a beginner’s sexual activity. Correction. You are recommending the first sexual act I do with the only girl I’ve ever liked”—loved—“is to apply my tongue to her ass.” I threw up my hands. “You’re such an unromantic bastard. I’ve never even put my tongue in her mouth.”
Perry lost the battle with his smirk and his laugh erupted out, evolving into a choked cough. He set his glass down, now in hysterics.
I glared at him. “Dick,” I muttered.
All of us swiveled our heads to the television because the centerfielder was up at bat. When he struck out, we collectively groaned. The TV cut to a commercial.
I turned to Bert, who wore gray sweats and a T-shirt like me, rather than fucking silk pajamas like Perry. My oldest brother tended to be more serious than Perry, and I found myself pleading with him, to my embarrassment. In for a penny, though. “Please don’t be a douchebag, B. Please tell me the truth.”
Bert kicked up his feet on the coffee table and sipped his own soda. At twenty-two, he was the only one old enough to legally drink alcohol, but Mom and Dad had never cared if we drank as long as we didn’t leave the house. They said it was safer. And they usually took pictures of our hangovers. Amazingly, they also said they didn’t care if we smoked pot, since it was legal. As a result, none of us drank much alcohol or were potheads, likely because our parents were permissive. Reverse psychology worked wonders. Soda for all of us brothers tonight.
Bert looked like he was struggling with whether to answer me seriously or not, and finally ended up shrugging. “Well, rimming is one thing you can do as a first sexual activity, although I wouldn’t recommend it on the first date. Maybe for Perry, yes. But for you? No.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly. “You’re extremely helpful. What else shouldn’t I do? Do I need to bribe you with Warriors tickets to get an answer?”
He shook his head. “Nah. This advice is free. I’m amazed you’re still a virgin. I thought you popped your cherry years ago—”
“Not helping—”
“And I personally think your first sexual activity should be to eat her out.”
“Fuck you both,” I said with no heat, although my cheeks burned. “I’m sitting here trying to ask you both a serious question, and you’re making fun of me. I can learn more from porn than you dumbfucks.”
“I’m being honest about going down on her,” Bert said, and he gave Perry a “help me out here, bro” look. “It’s hot, and it works.”
“What do you mean, ‘works’?” I asked.
“It’ll get her off. She’ll come. That’s what you want, right?”
I nodded.
“Then that’s what you should do. Apply your tongue to her pussy.”
“I shouldn’t have asked,” I groaned, scrubbing my face with my palms.
“I’m serious,” Bert insisted. “It’s a good first move. I mean, after you get to second base or whatever.”
I hadn’t gotten to second base. I also didn’t want to admit this. “I give up. You guys are no help.”
Perry chuckled, picked up his glass, and held up his hands. “Okay, okay. For real, what do you want to know?”
I thought about it. “What was your first time like?”
I knew when both of them got laid, because they told me, but I’d never asked for details. Because eww, brothers. Desperate times, though.
Perry was more promiscuous and more forthcoming than Bert, so his ready response didn’t surprise me. “I got off. She didn’t. It wasn’t my best.”