Page 66 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Thanks for the book and for tonight. I feel much better after talking to you.”
“Of course. Maybe tomorrow night we can look over the book together. Learn some new things. I’m always looking to educate myself on the subject of sex.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, nuzzling in closer. His grip tightened around me as he sighed in contentment, I knew we had something rare and special. I could deal with bad dates, as long as there was this. Cuddling, sleeping, and relishing in his company as I hoped he did with mine.
Chapter Twelve
The Hyena Call
June 9, 2018
I saw a real-life penis for the first time last night. It was interesting. It was a little floppier than I’d expected it to be, like the kind of floppy a soggy baguette would offer. I wish I’d actually touched it rather than licked around it, because my eyes really had no clue about texture. Therefore, I couldn’t confirm or deny my thoughts on how rubbery a dick was. Even though his penis was sitting on top of a patch of lap broccoli, I was still able to get a good look, and what fascinated me the most was how it was hard but still had loose-ish skin. What’s with that? Did my vagina have extra skin?
I tried giving her a good look earlier this morning with my compact mirror but was startled when Henry banged on the door, causing me to drop my compact and break my powder. After that, I left mt vagina alone and just assumed her skin was normal. She didn’t feel loose down there.
I started a new book today, and it jumped right into the sex. I’ve found reading some erotic novels were more about the sex and less about the storyline, and do you know what? For an interested girl like me, I rather enjoyed it. The only drawback was when I read at lunch, Sir Licks-a-Lot sat on his perch, aka my filing cabinet, and licked himself while keeping his eyes on me the whole time. His little leg stretched in the air as he licked his balls. It was rather uncomfortable, as if he was trying to tell me, this is how sex really went down. So now when I read about a woman going down on a man, my first thought is of Sir Licks-a-Lot and there is something entirely wrong with that image on many levels.
But back to the erotic novels. I found that the authors describe the woman’s vagina as, 1) their sex and 2) like a blossoming flower, opening up for the man’s seed. Now, in my head, when I think about this, all I can picture is a giant vagina, opening its lady folds for the penis of their choice. This confused me more about the concept of extra skin in the vagina area. I tried googling extra skin and vagina, and let’s just say I won’t be doing that again. Something about a blue waffle popped up, and I’m pretty sure I dry-heaved for a half an hour after that.
I’ve written some more in my book, but I feel a little at loss and I don’t know if that’s because my life is at a bit of a standstill. It’s hard to write romance when it’s completely lacking in your life. I mean, I like to think I know romance, but when it comes to experiencing it, I get so close but fail at the end. It’s as though I can attract men but not keep them. Am I doomed to be lonely for the rest of my life? Was I going to turn into Gladys, who walks around with a cat clinging to the back of her sweater without her knowledge? I hoped to God not.
“Rosie, are you coming? Pizza is here,” Delaney called out from the living room.
“Be right there,” I said as I closed my journal and stuffed it away.
I felt melancholy today because not only had Alejandro completely wiped me off his dating radar—didn’t blame the man—but Lance hadn’t called me either. I never heard back from Greg, so all dating prospects failed me. It had seemed too good to be true.
After a long day at work, I crawled into a warm bath and read, trying to block out reality for a small portion of time. That was short-lived when Delaney came banging on the door claiming she needed to go to the bathroom, and she needed her privacy. It was the downfall of sharing an apartment with two other human beings. Bathroom time wasn’t quiet time, it wasdo your business efficiently and get outtime.
That’s when I went back to my room and read some of the book Henry gave me, and then I wrote in my journal.
“Pizza’s getting cold,” Delaney called out again, starting to get on my nerves.
I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and slipped on my slippers.
“There she is,” Derk said while slow clapping. “She decided to grace us with her presence.”
Flipping him off, I sat at one of the barstools and grabbed a piece of pizza from the box containing broccoli and black olive pizza; it was my favorite.
“Where’s Henry?” I asked, expecting to see him.
“He has a date tonight; pretty sure he won’t be coming home.”
For some reason, I felt a small pang of jealousy, but I tamped it down just as quickly. I couldn’t have Henry to myself every night. I relied on him a little too much.
Trying to seem interested, I asked, “Oh, with who? Do I know her?”
“Not sure. Her name is Rindy.”
“Rindy?” I asked, already able to picture her in my head. If she was anything like Henry’s typical girl, she would be big-boobed and blonde. He claimed to love brunettes, but almost every girl he went out with was a blonde.
“Yup, don’t know what she looks like, but he said she was a cheerleader for the New York Knicks. I think she’s a model now; can’t remember.”
“Sounds like she’s right up Henry’s alley then. The boy doesn’t know how to date a normal girl.”
“He has great taste.” Derk chewed on his pizza and looked at it as if it was a gift straight from the heavens.
“He has horrible taste,” Delaney countered. “Do you remember that blonde with the ‘beauty mark’ on her face? I swear to God, that damn thing moved every time I saw her. Pretty sure it was on the tip of her nose at one point.”
