Page 3 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“What does that mean?” I asked, confused.
They both looked at me and shook their heads.
“Masturbation,” Delaney answered.
“Oh, gross. I would never do that.”
“Wait, hold up.” Henry stood and pointed his beer bottle at me. “So not only are you a virgin, but you’ve never even masturbated?”
Gulping, I said, “You mean, touching myself?”
“Damn, Rosie,” Henry said in disbelief. “How come I’ve known you for six years and I’ve never known about your sexual life, or lack thereof?”
“Maybe because you were too busy banging your way through the English department,” I said in a snide tone, starting to get irritated from both Delaney and Henry ganging up on me.
“Hey, got good grades, didn’t I?” He smirked.
“You’re irritating.” I trudge off to my room.
“Hold it right there, missy.” Delaney pulled on my arms before I could make my way past her. “You know I love you, right?” Her voice softened.
“I thought you did.”
“Don’t get all salty on us, we’re only trying to understand you. You want to write a romance novel, because you want to have a life that doesn’t involve writing about the latest and greatest poop scooper, right?”
“Yes,” I answered. This was exasperating. “I also love the idea of creating my own love story, having two people who’ve been living through such different circumstances fall in love. It’s all about the find when it comes to love, the moment you meet the one person you can’t possibly live without. That’s what intrigues me.”
“Agreed, but you know sex sells, correct?”
“Yes, I know that firsthand. I like books that have friskiness in them.” Although, the books I read were slightly outdated, but things still happened in them, things that made my entire body heat up.
“It’s called sex, Rosie,” Delaney said. “Fucking, fornicating, poking the donut, making milk, smushing—”
“Porking,” Henry added. “Slapping the ham, knocking boots, dick twerking.”
“Riding the bologna pony, getting some stank on the hang down . . .”
Henry cut a look at Delaney and asked, “Getting some stank on the hang down? You’re better than that, Delaney.”
She shrugged her shoulders and was about to start up again when I said, “I get it. Sex, see I can say it.” Even though it felt like I had cotton in my mouth.
“Try saying it without developing a light sheen on your upper lip.”
Instantly, I wiped my upper lip, feeling mortified.
“There was no sheen.”
“Oh yes, there was.”
I waved my hand in the air, trying to erase the conversation.I hate feeling like such an idiot, and right now, that’s exactly how I feel.“Just get back to your point before I storm off.”
“Fine,” Delaney said. “Sex sells, so if you want to write a book that’s going to turn on every woman in the damn country, then you’re going to have to put yourself out there and experience what it’s like to orgasm. To have a man squeeze that hard little nipple of yours, to know what a dick feels like in your hands, in your mouth, in your pussy—”
“Okay”—I held up my hand—“I get it. I need to have sex. How do you suggest I go about doing that without paying someone on the corner?”
“Tinder,” Henry suggested.
Delaney seemed to consider his option for a second but then shook her head. “Tinder is too aggressive. I think she’d wilt under pressure. She needs to be taken out on a date first, not meet up at the closest motel. We need someone who’s going to take it easy on her.”
