Page 18 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“What?” I started chocking on my own saliva.
There was no way Henry was interested in having sex with me. We’d been friends since freshman year, practically brother and sister. The thought that he was even semi-interested in me was actually kind of hilarious. The man saw me through my overall days my freshman year in college, so he definitely wasn’t interested.
“He’s all over you. I saw the way he was looking at you in the hallway, and the porn date last night, not to mention the vibrator and Kindle. He wants in your pants.”
“That is so not true and stop talking about it. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable around him. We’re just friends. That would be like you saying you want in my pants.”
Delaney looked me up and down and smirked. “I’d tap that.”
“Flattering, but no.”She was a nut. I loved her . . . but Henry interested in me?Just the idea of it made me almost bust out in hysterical laughter.
We got off the subway and headed up the pee-covered stairs. The stench of the New York subways was something I would never get over. If anything, pee on the subway tracks, not on the stairs. My biggest fear was tripping while climbing them and catching myself in a puddle of human urine. I wouldn’t be able to handle living my life after such a traumatic event.
“You know he’s a virgin chaser, right?”
“Who?” I asked, still thinking about the subway stairs.
“Henry. He loves welcoming virgins into the world of sex.”
“That’s not true,” I said, actually not knowing if I was right or not. It didn’t seem like Henry. Yes, he liked to bring a lot of women back to the apartment, but he was a genuine guy, sweet, kind. There wasn’t a mean or manipulative bone in his body, which was why I loved him so much.
He was a ladies’ man though. The majority of women Henry brought back to the apartment looked more like two-cent hookers rather than chastity belt-wearing nuns, so to say he was a cherry chaser seemed absurd to me.
“Think what you want but he loves a virgin.”
Not wanting to talk about Henry behind his back, I dropped the subject the moment we walked in the salon. It was a soothing environment, which was surprising, given what was going on in the back rooms. The walls were a neutral tan color with green hues and bamboo surrounded the room, making it almost serene. Maybe the waxing wasn’t going to be so terrible. Nothing terrible could go on in a place like this where waterfalls winked at you and the sweet scent of tenderness greeted you at the door.
“Miss Bloom,” the receptionist said with a smile. “Right this way.”
Before walking away, I turned and gave Delaney a nervous look and in return she squeezed my hand with a wink and said, “Don’t scream too loud.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
The receptionist spoke to me as she led me down the dark, yet tranquil hallway that was filtered with soft lighting and calming music. When we passed doors on either side, I would occasionally hear a yelp or the sound of what seemed like Velcro being pulled off magnetic fabric. Fear started to tickle down my back as I tried to think about what Delaney got me into.
“You’ll be with Marta, and she is one of our best technicians. I informed Marta this was your first time so she is aware to be gentle with you.”
As opposed to rough?Why wouldn’t you be gentle when you were pulling out every last hair from your most sensitive lady area?
“Marta will be with you in a moment,” the receptionist continued. “For now, take off your pants and panties. You can place them in the dresser over there and then lie on the table with that cloth over your lap for privacy. Would you like any tea?”
“I’m good,” I said as I peered around the room. It looked like a relaxing place, almosttoorelaxing, like the calm before the storm. I wasn’t naïve, I knew sadistic things occurred in here. The walls were talking to me, speaking of the torture chamber this room morphed into, telling me to run.Run like hell.
Maybe I should . . .
Before I could say I wasn’t quite ready, the receptionist shut the door and left me to strip.
Well there went that idea. I took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.
Look, there was popsicle sticks on the side table. Anything that had ever involved popsicle sticks had been a dream in my experience. So, maybe this would be a dream too.
Giving myself a small pep talk, I peeked into my pants and told my vagina that even though what was about to happen to her was construed by the devil himself, I still loved her and hopefully, such actions would bring great rewards in the future. And hey, maybe I was one of those girls who had a high threshold for pain.
I could to this.
With all the bravado I had, I took my pants off, folded them, placed them into the dresser—which was an odd thing to me but I wasn’t going to focus on it—and then took off my boy shorts. I owned thongs and only wore them when absolutely necessary. I’d lived in boy shorts my whole life and didn’t plan on changing, even if I wanted some action.
After everything was tucked away, I hopped on the table and placed the cloth over my lap, which seemed completely useless, given that Marta would soon be spreading hot wax all over my vagina.
