Warning: the second part of this chapter has some awkward (underage) solo smut. Don't like, don't read.
Bridget
We all hung out at the curb from where we bought the ice cream. It was enough work chatting with Genoise while trying to keep my ice cream from melting that I only noticed David staring at me when I'd started crunching the cone. He smiled and I felt myself flush. He seemed like a lovely guy, nice and not bad-looking, either. With his sturdy build and broad shoulders, he seemed like a guy that could try out for the football team. His blond hair was buzz-cut. Thinking towards more practical topics, I brushed off my sticky fingers. "So, David, I was wondering what we might do for the project."
"Hamlet? That's my favorite one, you know."
"Oh!" I didn't think he looked like someone who did Shakespeare. "What about it?"
"Oh, lots of things. It's just one of those more intense plays. The witches are my favorite. I don't know why."
"So maybe we could decorate our stand with the witches in front? You could do those, if you want." Genoise leaned against my shoulder making snoring sounds. I waved her away and David chuckled.
"Sure thing. Hey, how about we exchange numbers?" He ducked his head shyly. "I mean, for the project. We can talk about it better then." I nodded, giving him my phone.
"Sure thing. Truth be told, I don't care much for Shakespeare. I'm glad you like it, at least."
"As long as you don't flake out on me." I laughed.
"I won't."
After we exchanged numbers we sort of scattered out, David excusing himself because he had to head home soon, and me and Genoise walked home. We were such best friends because we lived close together. Her apartment complex was right next to mine. I hadn't realized how much time had passed until slanting orange lights reflected on the building windows. We walked up the street, the evening heat making our legs sluggish. Genoise was grinning teasingly at me. "What?"
"He's pretty good-looking, too. Look at Bridget today, racking up the beau points." I flushed, rolling my eyes. "Don't you think so, too?"
"It's too soon to decide. We're only working on a project together. We're not even friends yet." Genoise groaned.
"Friggin' Mr. Cecil. Why does he always have to give us such hard homework?"
"Speaking of which, how goes it with that one guy? Brandon?"
"Bruce. And I dumped him, like, last week."
"Did you sleep with him?" She laughed and shoved me.
"Just get inside before you get picked up, you virgin." I stuck my tongue out at her and ducked my head inside the building. The landlord, this old Chinese woman, passed me on my way upstairs. My apartment number was 317, the last one on the third floor. It really was a relief David found my wallet. My keys were attached, so if I'd lost it I would've gotten told off by Mom. I jangled them, unlocked the door and elbowed my way inside, fresh air-con greeting me and the sound of soft piano. My backpack felt heavier as I dragged myself through the hallway and ducked my head inside the living room. There was a familiar sight: my twin brother, Bernard, practicing his piano even though he was already a master. Bernard looks almost just like me. We have the same curly dark hair, the round face and thick eyebrows, only they suit Bernard better. He has more freckles than me and his eyes are browner. We're the same height. I'm the older twin, but only by 4 minutes so I don't really consider myself a big sister.
"Hi." He messed the melody slightly but maintained it while he talked.
"You're home finally?"
"Yeah."
"You went somewhere fun without me?"
"Just some ice cream."
"Lucky."
"It wasn't anything too exciting." I paused, listening. "Is that Claire de Lune?"
"Yeah."
"Knew it. When's supper? I'm starving." He shrugged, though I wasn't expecting a real answer. I guess I'd whip up a carrot sandwich later. I dragged myself into my bedroom, closed the door, and landed on my bed in a flop. Evening light filtered through the curtains, filling my small room with dim orange glow. Hearing the faint sound of traffic outside and Claire de Lune made me sleepy. I sighed, curling on my side. To me back then, it was just another uneventful day, but I let it all replay and rewind like a tape recorder. If David did the decorations, I would write the essay and whatnot. I was good at writing, and anyways, I didn't trust my other groupmates.
... It wasn't true, what Genoise said. It wasn't as if I didn't care about finding a boyfriend, but, well, there were plenty of other important things. Like this project, for instance. My parents and I already decided that I would wait until I was at least 30 to get married. And I would wait till marriage. I couldn't lie, everyone around me, even Genoise sleeping around with each other even though we were only sophomores made me feel... insecure, I guess? But a shallow relationship that lasted only a week didn't sit well with me.
"S-so you've done it?"
"Totally."
I bit my lip. She never even answered my question. I wasn't totally ignorant. Me and Daisy and Kylie and some other girls, we talked about sex sometimes. It's not the same thing, I could almost hear Genoise chiding in my ears. Gossiping about it isn't even in the same category. Experience is everything. My face felt hot as I sat up and fished my computer out of my bag. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I could feel guilty excitement spreading through me. In 6th grade a specialist came into our classroom to talk about sexual relations. We got separated into gender-oriented classes and the lady explained to all of us how a baby was made, sexual diseases and how we needed to be careful. The amount of disgusted and fascinated faces must have been comical, looking back. The only off thing was how when we all rejoined our classrooms, the boys bragged to us about how they were allowed to masturbate and we weren't. Despite the fact I knew it was wrong, that's the logic I used to assure myself. If boys could do it, why couldn't I? Please God, forgive me, I thought over and over to myself as I typed the words with trembling fingers: sex videos.
It was so embarrassing, such a wrong thing to do, but if I couldn't gain any experience, observation was the next best thing, wasn't it? And me, being careless old me, clicked on the first link I saw(it was Pornhub) and I swear my eyeballs rolled back into my skull with embarrassment. There was plenty of material to choose from, I'll only say that, with dirty title captions I'm too ashamed to even try to remember. And fine, I can admit it: I clicked on the most bawdy-looking one.
I know now that it's a pretty standard erotic scenario, the trope everybody makes fun of. You know how it all starts, with a woman in scandalous clothes lounging in a suggestive manner on her sofa in a luxurious house, impatiently waiting for her pizza, and when the bell finally rings she stomps right up to the door, her breasts and bottom jiggling like a couple of soft melons to tell the pizza guy off for being late when she has a double take at how handsome--how hunky this particular pizza guy is. So much that she can't seem to help herself when he asks for the check and she says, "Oh, I don't have any money. Isn't there possibly any other way I can repay you?" all while rubbing close against his arm and giving him seductive eyes. And the pizza guy, like the woman, can't seem to help himself. So they stumble into the house together and they kiss passionately, in the way lovers do in the movies but much more explicit, more hungry. They caress each other, whisper filthy things to each other and she is so overcome with that hunger that she puts his thing in her mouth, slobbers all over it, like a crying child being given a lollipop after her shot. And after all that, he makes her crouch on the sofa and he rams himself into her like an animal. They go at it like animals. It's vicious and painful-looking but the woman screams in a pleasurable way so it must feel good. And during all of this, the pizza, who we don't even know what kind of toppings are on it, is sitting on the floor, forgotten.
This is a weird thing to say, but I felt like the pizza when I watched that video: completely invisible and hiding in a small box. If I were a more modest girl like I was supposed to be, I would have been disgusted by it all. Instead I watched the whole thing with morbid fascination, hand pressed hard against my burning face and a rolling sensation just below my tummy. There was that tingly feeling, sort of similar to the way you feel when you're about to pee and the feeling of moisture filling my underwear made me clench my thighs together. I felt foolish, unsure of myself as I reached a hand under my skirt and felt around under my underwear. When I poked a finger in, I jolted, surprised at the strange discomfort. It scared me so much that I pulled it right out. Then I remembered that girls bleed on their first time and I quickly decided I wouldn't repeat the act, otherwise I might've hurt myself. Instead I imitated what the woman did in the video, tentatively rubbing out the outer parts of myself. I nearly squealed at the little volt of sensation that shot through my stomach when I touched that nub. Oh, I thought as I repeated the action, more sure this time now. So that's what that's for. The experience lasted for about 5 more minutes, only me biting one hand and mumbling quick little breaths and the other one doing the movements. Fear built inside me as something else did, or something I didn't recognize. Pleasure, I guess. But it felt similar to peeing and when I peaked, I made a small keening sound of terror thinking that's just what I did. I ripped my hand out of my underwear, shut my laptop hard, jackknifed into a sitting position and stared at the bedspread between my thighs. No, I didn't wet myself. Relieved, I collapsed onto my back again.
For a long time I laid there just like that, staring at my ceiling in the darkness. Shame and exhaustion rolled over me. I couldn't believe I'd just masterbated, I really couldn't. Now all of Genoise's teasing was nothing in comparison to the fact that I'd just done something bad, with Bernard literally right in the next room. I considered this for a while. At least, it hadn't been a bad experience.
I had nearly dozed off when my door flew open. I jumped. "M-Mom?!"
"Darling, sorry we're late. I picked up some takeout on the way home, and Daddy's brought a cake. Isn't that nice?" I rubbed my eyes. My mom's a really pretty woman. Her long brown hair was tied up in a tight bun and she still wore her doctor's jacket over her blue bodycon skirt. The smell of Chinese food wafted from the bag in her hand and she frowned at me. "Bridget, please pull down your skirt. You look like a homewrecker." I hoped I wasn't as red-faced as I felt.
"Sorry, Mom. I fell asleep."
"Well, wash up for dinner and join us at the table, will you?" She walked away and I sighed wearily. I sat on my knees, rolled my skirt down and found my phone on the edge of the bed. I turned it on and the first thing I thought of was to text David that we needed to bring cardboard.