Читать книгу Amorous Woman - Donna George Storey - Страница 15

Over the next month, Caroline and I actually became friends in our own way, after a lifetime of rivalry and mutual disdain. Sex deserves the credit for bringing us together, because it’s pretty much all we talked about during our party-planning phone calls.

At first I tried to back out of it, but Caroline was determined that the party would happen just as she’d planned, and she had answers for every excuse I offered.

Of course I didn’t have to be in love with the guy, she argued, it was my duty to explore and experiment first so that when I did find a guy I loved, I could appreciate him. And no, we weren’t exploiting her friends by planning it in advance. After all, wasn’t it a time-honored tradition for an experienced relative to take a young man to a brothel where he learned his first lessons in pleasure? Why couldn’t women do it, too? Besides, she’d bet her new car that whichever guy I chose would welcome the exploitation.

Finally I confessed my real fear. ‘Suppose he freaks out when he discovers it’s my first time?’

‘Most of them will probably be flattered, but I guess there could be the odd throwback who still thinks the first time should be special. So, if he asks—and he probably won’t—you should just lie.’

‘But he’ll be able to tell, won’t he?’

‘Absolutely not, Lydia, because you’re going to do “homework.” And we both know what a good student you are.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that the next time you play with yourself—and I know you do, so don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about—you should put something bigger than a finger inside. That way it won’t hurt much at all when the guy puts his dick in.’

‘Caroline,’ I said, a nervous laugh bubbling up in my throat, ‘I don’t think I can go through with this.’

But the truth was, the more we talked, the more I wanted to do it. Caroline was offering me more than an A-list group of Ivy League boys from a rich D.C. suburb, a keg of beer to put them in the mood, and the free run of her house, with Aunt Jean and Uncle Bob tucked safely away in a country inn on Maryland’s Eastern Shore for the weekend. She was giving me something even more precious—the freedom to travel to a foreign land where I could do anything and be anything I wanted, if only for one night.

It was a gift I’d have to travel halfway around the world to find again.