“Jillian!” My mom’s voice carried up the stairs and into my bedroom. “Someone’s here for you!”
I put my cell phone against my thigh and yelled back that I’d be right down.
“Gotta go,” I said to my best friend, Chloe. “She’s here. Ugh.”
“Okay,” Chloe said. “Just remember: there’s no one better to be partnered with for an assignment on sex than the school slut.”
“Chloe! You’re bad!” I laughed. “But… you’re right. Talk later!”
I threw my phone on my bed and looked up. And directly into the hard brown eyes of Gretchen Avery.
“I–”
“Don’t bother,” Gretchen said, cutting me off. “ You’re gonna go deaf with your volume up that high.” There was just enough of a brittle edge to her voice that my heart sank: she heard Chloe’s assessment of my project partner and my agreement.
Without waiting for me to invite her, Gretchen strode into my room and dropped her backpack on the floor by my desk. She stared at me, pissed off.
I, in turn, stared back… at her chest. I couldn’t help it, though! She had on a black cami top that matched her black bobbed hair. The shirt was cut so low over her enormous breasts that I thought she seriously might fall out of it. Thankfully, she had on a black wool pea coat, since it was the middle of February. But the jacket hung open with her chest a mottled red from the exposure to the cold elements.
Of course, exposing herself was one of Gretchen’s known talents. She just, well, put it all out there. I can’t even imagine how low her self-esteem was to be so blatantly solicitous to guys like that. I felt a mixture of pity and disgust well up inside me but pushed it down. We had work to do!
“Okay, so…”
“I know this isn’t for biology, but you seem to need a little reminder,” Gretchen spat out, “but eyes are typically located in someone’s head.”
She crossed her arms, which only made it worse, because I swear! I don’t know how she stayed in her clothing.
Still, I forced my eyes to meet hers. As soon as I did, she whirred to life, uncrossing her arms, bending down to open her backpack, and deftly yanking out a spiral bound notebook with a pen stuck in the wirey loops. Without even taking off her coat, Gretchen plopped down in my desk chair. She swiveled to face me as she opened the notebook on her lap and uncapped the pen, all in one fluid motion.
“So,” she said, voice hard. “Let’s come up with the questions for our sex survey, pop it online on a survey site, and then we don’t have to work together again until we compile our results. Agreed?”
I perched on my bed, stunned. She didn’t want to work with me? What the hell was that about? I looked down at my skinny jeans and long, oversized Dr. Who sweatshirt. No stains. Nothing hanging out. Normal.
However, I wasn’t going to argue with working together as little as possible while still getting the project done.
“Okay, fine. ‘How old were you when you lost your virginity?’ is probably a good place to start,” I decided.
Gretchen started writing it down, then hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“Shouldn’t we ask first if they did? And then have a sub-question for when?” Gretchen said, “Or at least ask if they’ve had sex and, if so, how old they were the first time? Otherwise, you’re presupposing that everyone’s had sex. Which is odd. Coming from you.”“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Gretchen said, laughing a little harshly. “It’s just that, how would you answer if you came across a question that asked how old you were when you lost your virginity?”
I bristled. “Not that it’s any of your business, but–for the sake of the project–my answer would be sixteen.”
Gretchen blinked very quickly and looked confused. I didn’t get what was going on here.
After about ten seconds, she tried words instead of blinking. “So you’ve… like… you’ve already…?”
Wait… was she blushing? Did people even do that anymore? So strange. But now I was curious.
“Yes,” I said, tone defensive. “Matt and I had been dating for well over a year. There came a point when we were both ready.
So we got condoms, talked to our parents, and here I am. One good turn deserves another, especially for the project.” I asked, “When did you?”
“Umm, I… I don’t know how to answer that,” Gretchen stammered. The blush (it was totally a blush!) deepened. She stared very intently at her notebook.
I huffed and rolled my eyes. She clearly wasn’t taking this seriously. “You answer with a number, maybe? Seriously, it’s not that hard.”
Then I stopped and went wide-eyed.
I said quickly, “I mean, unless you had a really crappy abusive childhood or something. Oh god, if so, then I’m sorry!”
“Jeez, Jilian,” Gretchen said, sighing. “This has nothing to do with my childhood. It’s just hard to give an age for when I ‘lost’ my virginity when I know exactly where it is. Still with its original owner, thank-you-very-much.”
Okay, not going to lie: my brain may have shut off at that point. It’s hard to tell.
But what was even harder to get a grip on was the fact that the school slut was sitting, in my room, telling me she was a virgin. On so many levels, this did not compute.
“I don’t understand. Are you saying you’ve never had, um… intercourse?” I hating the falter in my voice. For some reason it was easier to say the technical term right now, as ‘sex’ just sound too… sexy. “Because there are other things you can do besides that, you know?”
Gretchen shot me a withering glance. She shot back, dryly, “Are there really, Jillian? I had no idea. It’s not like I have a thing called the internet or anything.”
“Look, I just find it hard to believe that you are sitting here telling me you’ve never done anything.” It felt harsh to say, but seriously. She wasn’t going to sit up in my desk chair and tell me she was a virgin. It was ridiculous. “You have to know the reputation you have, dressing like that and dating as many guys as you do.”
“Dressing like what?” This time there was no edge in Gretchen’s tone
“Seriously, Gretchen?” I nearly laughed. “I hate to say this but you look like you’re going to fall out of your cami any minute now. And you walk around like that all the time, even in the middle of winter! With your coat hanging open to make sure everyone can see? It’s just kind of hard to believe you’re still rockin’ a V-card.”
Gretchen snipped, mimicking my tone, “Seriously, Jillian? I hate to say this but wearing a low cut shirt doesn’t mean you’ve had sex any more than, apparently, acting like a prude means that you actually are.”
She glared at me.
Gretchen added, voice back to its normal tone, “Looks can be deceiving. And to answer your question, I haven’t done any of the other things. At all.”
I pursed my lips as Gretchen continued.
“You said you and your boyfriend waited a year, until you felt ready? Well, I respect my body and my comfort just as much as you do. I date around because as soon as I go out two or three times with a guy, he starts thinking he can get all handsy with me. When I put an end to that, they all stop calling me and start calling their friends to say what a hot lay I am.”
It was beginning to dawn on me that she wasn’t joking. Nor did it seem that she was lying. Gretchen Avery was a freakin’ virgin! Now there’s a rumor that would never catch wind. No one would believe it unless they were hearing it from her, like I was.
“As for the shirts and the jacket,” Gretchen said, starting to sound tired, “you wouldn’t understand. So let’s just drop it.”
If it wasn’t to get people to stare at her chest, like me and Chloe and Matt always thought it was, why the heck would she wear such exceedingly revealing clothes?
I said, “What wouldn’t I understand? I mean, if you’re not doing it for attention, you’re sending the wrong message.”
Gretchen looked away then back at me and sighed. “Okay, look. I can’t have anything on my chest or neck. I get anxiety attacks. It’s been that way ever since I was a little girl. I don’t know. I feel like I’m being strangled or smothered.”
I didn’t know what to make of all this new information, expect that I felt like a bit of an ass. I shut my eyes and squeezed them tightly.
“Gretchen,” I started but she stopped me.
“You don’t have to like me, Jillian. And I don’t have to like you. But maybe we should just stop talking about each others’ sex lives and motivations like we know what we’re saying. Let’s just make this survey and be done here.”
And to think… we were only on the first question.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Genalissa S. lives the gorgeous state of Mississippi and is exceptionally grateful for her family and friends. Her passions include singing, dancing, cuddling, theater, reading, writing, and driving. It is a distinct dream of hers to one day have tea and chocolate with Darren Criss, Crystal Bowersox, and RuPaul.