Chapter 1
I stood at the door to her apartment, debating with myself on whether I should knock or walk away. I wiped my sweaty palms on the back pockets of my skinny jeans and tugged my shirt down to try and cover the exposed flesh of my belly. I succeeded only in revealing more of my cleavage. (Why had I not worn something more comfortable?) Then I reminded myself I would be taking my clothes off anyway, so what did it matter?
I was here on a whim, with something to prove. I was tired of being the dull, prudish, small-town girl in a big city cliche. My friends teased me about this, not to be mean, but to urge me out of some shell they thought I was stuck in. Compared to what many college girls my age did, I was prudish and unadventurous. I didn't rage at parties, get hammered on alcohol or drugs, and hook up with a different guy every weekend. My friends liked me well enough but thought I should go out and have more fun. What some of them really meant was that I needed to get laid. I silently agreed with them.
I was a virgin, not so much by choice but rather lack of opportunity. I did grow up in a small town, and my options for worthy bed partners were limited. Even if I had found someone, my over-protective, very religious parents would have been an obstacle. The opportunity to be deflowered, a ridiculous term in my opinion, never presented itself.
By the time I got to college, away from my parents' observing eyes and into a bed of sexual opportunities, I found they weren't so easy to come by. Oddly enough, some guys seemed intimidated by my virginity once I told them. The guys I didn't tell assumed I'd be okay having sex in the back room at a party on a pile of other people's coats or in a drunken frenzy after a long sweaty night of dancing. I have no delusions on the religious or moral importance of keeping my virginity intact, but I've held onto it this long, and I'm a bit attached to the quality of the send-off.
So I let my friends have their jokes. They weren't all true, and some of the guys knew it. I had some experience with the fun play that leads up to taking a man's dick inside me. I just never felt like crossing that line with anyone yet. It seemed simpler to let my friend's tease than try to explain myself.
They could say what they want about my inexperience, but reading erotica was almost a hobby of mine. My friends probably don't even know a portion of what is out there as far as fucking goes. They just go out, get drunk, and settle for sloppy sex with whoever comes along first. Not me.
For all my talk about not being bothered by their impressions and teasing me, their jokes finally cracked part of my shell one day while hanging out on campus.
"So, who's going to Steve's party Friday?" Liam asked the group of us. We were piled onto the benches around a picnic table on the quad. A few people enthusiastically replied that they were.
"Does that guy even go here? I only ever see him shit-faced at his house?" One of the other guys asked.
"I think he got kicked out like a year ago but never found anything else to do. I'm gonna go for sure, though. Don't want to miss the jello shot contest, especially after that rainbow display of puke from last time." People at the table laughed and groaned and made fake vomiting sounds in memory. Amber turned to me and quietly asked, "What about you, Lani? Want to check out Steve's party with me?" Her smile let me know it was a friendly request.
"Gee, sounds like a fun time," I replied sarcastically and returned her smile.
Liam overheard her comment and teased, "Lani letting loose at a party? I'd pay to see that."
I playfully rolled my eyes at him.
"Yeah, right, she'd probably bring her homework with her because she wouldn't know what to do once she got there." Jackson, a guy who had not appreciated my outright rejection of his past advances, laughed too hard at his joke. A few people chuckled and nodded in agreement. "She'd walk in all wide-eyed and tripping over herself. Can you imagine Lani drunk? Talk about a babysitting gig!"
I was grateful to see I wasn't the only one annoyed by his comment. People shifted uncomfortably and looked at their phones to see how long before class.
"Leave off, Jackson," Amber came to my rescue, "At least Lani's going to keep her brain cells and graduate. You'll probably end up like Steve, throwing parties off-campus for under-aged drinkers just so you can relive some stupid glory days."
"Damn Amber, I was just joking."
"It's fine, Amber," I said quietly as I put my hand on her arm. "What's that about?" I pointed to the paper sticking out of her book, letting the conversation around us shift to other topics and fade into the background. All I could read was 'erotic life.'
"This?" She opened the book to show me the rest of the wording.
"Erotic life art. My art professor is looking for a model to pose for her. She's got some big gallery event coming up in the spring."
"So why is it called 'erotic life art'?"
"The model has to be nude. I don't know, maybe provocative positions or something. I'm certainly not going to offer my services. I've gained like ten pounds in the last year, and I don't need to share that with everyone."
"You look great," I said automatically, meaning it as well.
"Yeah, well, still not my thing. I like to have my weekend nights free, and that's the only time she has to work on this. You should do it. You're curvy and sexy, even if you don't know how to use it." She nudged me to show she was joking, but the comment stung.
Is that what people thought? That I didn't know how to be sexy or erotic? In my mind, I disagreed with her. I often felt very sexy and thought I came off that way. Apparently, I did not.
Amber had joined the conversation again, and I let my mind fall down the rabbit hole of how people must perceive me. I didn't feel prudish, and even for all their teasing, I hadn't thought my friends actually saw me that way. I was beginning to see that I was wrong; they really did think of me as a bore.
It was almost time for the next class, and people started gathering their bags and heading off in different directions. Amber picked up her pile and turned to me to say goodbye. I spoke first.
"Hey, if you don't need that paper, can I have it?"
Amber looked confused for a moment. "Oh, this one?" She pulled the scrap of paper out of her book. Amber raised her eyebrows as I took the paper and looked at the phone number.
"Does she want art students, or is it open to anyone willing?"
"She just needs a willing model with free weekend nights. Are you serious, Lani?"
I began to stutter out a response, suddenly insecure and unsure of drawing this kind of attention to myself.
"I think you'd be great! You should totally do it. And I want to see those pictures." Amber winked at me and leaned forward for a quick parting hug.