Twenty-three was probably the latest age a woman could lose her virginity without it being sad. At least that's what Cora thought. Twenty-one for a man and twenty-three for a woman, the difference being down to the last remnant of that archaic pallid blondes blending in with their white robes vestal virgin archetype that started to go out of fashion with the fall of the Roman empire. These days there wasn't much pride in holding on to your v-card for as long as possible. Besides, sex was nice, or so Cora had heard (largely through the walls of her college dorm). And besides besides, it would be nice to at least have a boyfriend who didn't just use her for cash and car rides (they'd broken up a year ago, but she still occasionally lent him money). Cora's twenty-fourth was still three months away: plenty of time to get a boyfriend, and she already had the right guy picked out.
Brad took a pottery class every Tuesday evening. His apartment had come with an empty shelf and this was an attempt to fill it and avoid falling into a single guy cliché. He'd put a plant on it, but couldn't be bothered to water more than one so pottery seemed like a good space filler slash conversation starter. There was this girl in the class, Cora, who seemed to have taken a shine to him. She would compliment even his shoddiest attempts and make regular references to the movie Ghost. It would have been nice if Cora had been a little more attractive. Not that she was ugly. Her hair was an uninspiring shade of brown, but she took good care of it. Her face had a sincerity and a symmetry to it, with decent lips. One of her breasts was average-sized, the other slightly larger, not that Brad ever paid enough attention to notice.
He knew it was inevitable that she'd ask him out, but when it happened he still wasn't quite prepared. Brad did like Cora, partly from her flattery, and partly because she was genuinely nice, but there was a problem. Brad had always avoided interaction with the outside world, instead opting to complete a series of psychology and computer science degrees until his parents stopped giving him money. As a result, Brad was one of the few people left in the world naïve enough to be truly monogamous. That meant no sex before marriage, and that one day he'd say 'til death do us part' and genuinely mean it. A part of him knew that Cora wasn't that kind of girl, but that part failed to make itself heard before he'd agreed on a time and place for a first date.
Brad would be a good start, Cora thought, waiting at the coffee shop. He had his own job, his own car, and hopefully his own apartment that wasn't just a room with a sad diagonal mattress. Still, he was a sort of placeholder, she'd give him her virginity, a few months of her life, then wait for a proper boyfriend to come along. Maybe if she tried a new wardrobe someone would ask *her* out this time. She was considering re-downloading vinted when she spotted Brad's buzz cut moving through the sea of heads. She waved him over. They shook hands and sat down, like he was applying for a loan. A spectator would have said he'd probably get the loan. The pair had some chemistry, perhaps from their shared but unspoken disinterest in the relationship, and managed to generate an hour's conversation. Cora had planned for a date a week, and was looking forward to losing her virginity in about a month. A part of Brad was worried about the impending sex-before-marriage conversation, but a larger part just looked forward to talking to Cora again without having to make a shitty ashtray. A tiny part of him even began to realise it was a conversation he could avoid altogether.
Cora was a little worried when she didn't see Brad at class on Tuesday. He seemed vaguely happy when she asked him out, and more certainly happy on their date, but still Cora couldn't avoid that sinister little voice telling her all the mistakes she'd made, all the reasons she might never see him again. She sat in silent stress for just over an hour, waiting for him to reply to her faux-casual text. He was busy, apparently. With work. But he'd definitely be there for their next date.
He was even later than the first time, and seemed a little frazzled. Most of him looked tired, but in his eyes there was a little dancing spark of inspiration, and a burning ember of determination. Cora had stuck to her plan, deploying her second-sexiest outfit. Something to hint at her best features without giving too much away, as well as a classy amount of cleavage. She even wore her push-up bra (the only gift her ex ever gave her), although still chose her comfortable, greyish pants over something hotter; Brad wouldn't see them anyway, not tonight. He seemed more interested in her as a person, probably because of the outfit, only occasionally interjecting a curt question to keep Cora's stream of consciousness flowing. He smiled and nodded in all the right places, head tilted slightly, maintaining eye contact. Cora fancied she could see genuine interest in his eyes. A passer-by might have seen calculating.
The almost-monologue brushed past the standard hour, long enough for Cora to feel bad for not letting Brad fit in a sentence that didn't end in a question mark. His answers were more succinct than hers, at the start, but when she asked about his time at university he was more forthcoming. He was reticent to talk about computer science, which was fine with Cora, but gladly discussed psychology in detail. He had all these little demonstrations, like one where she held out her arms and closed her eyes, and imaginary balloons caused one to rise up, or another where she held a pen on a string (a pen-dulum, he called it) and it would swing back and forth when she pictured it swinging. The bar was closing as they parted ways. It had been a very successful date.
Tuesday came and went, and Cora didn't even worry about Brad's absence. It was date night now, the big one, and Cora was hunched over her desk, a panoply of makeup spread before her as she scrutinised herself in a little mirror. Her phone timer beeped and within seconds she'd swept the makeup into a drawer, swept herself out of the house and was striding purposefully towards the bar. Her heels clacked on the pavement, enough to almost match Brad's meagre height. A tight bright white tank top topped a tighter pair of jeans. The outfit hid her push-up bra and almost-matching pants beneath. It was not a comfortable outfit. She hoped she wouldn't have to wear it long. Brad, surprisingly, had already secured a table for two, he fidgeted with his beer and looked at the apple martini across from him. He'd recently learned it was her favourite drink.
From his clothes Cora could tell Brad didn't know this would be a special night, which was alright. After all, he didn't have a copy of Cora's plan. After the requisite greetings and compliments, with Cora inwardly irritated that she hadn't yet moved up a level from handshake, the two of them sat down and enjoyed their drinks. Each was too nervous to notice the nervousness of the other, and the conversation flowed like ball-bearings packed in honey. After the allotted hour had passed, Cora plucked up the courage to ask Brad back to hers. He replied that he'd prefer they go back to his place. There was a pause. He explained that it was because he felt bad about being underdressed compared to Cora. He wanted to go home and change into something fancier. He lacked the life experience to realise that this was a very weird thing to say. Fortunately so did Cora.
