Muller were my first teachers in the secrets of sensual pleasure, my cousin Caroline was high school, college, and graduate school all rolled up in one. My apprenticeship began one Saturday evening in late February. My mother and I had been invited to a party at Aunt Jean and Uncle Bob’s new house, or rather, mansion, in Potomac. Uncle Bob had just been transferred to his company’s national headquarters in Washington, and my mother told me Caroline was so furious about having to leave California to spend her senior year in a new school, she demanded her own saucy red MGB GT and a shopping spree in Europe as her just compensation.
‘I’m glad you’re nothing like her,’ my mother said as we headed up the long path to their columned front entrance.
‘Me, too,’ I said, wrinkling my nose at the very thought. Dutiful daughter that I was, I tagged along to the party for her sake, bringing along a thick book to read while I holed up in some deserted guest bedroom. I planned to avoid blond surfer-girl Caroline like the plague, as I always did at our rare family gatherings over the years. But Caroline, and life, had different plans.
My cousin snagged me as I was wandering around looking for a hideout. She waved a bottle with a fancy French label at me. ‘I lifted some champagne from the bar. Come on up to my room, Lydia, and you can meet my friend, Marybeth. She’s wild.’
*****
‘Caroline, you didn’t tell me your cousin was cute!’ Those were Marybeth Leary’s first words when we met. She was stretched out on my cousin’s queen-size bed like Cleopatra, eyes hooded with marijuana and worldly ennui. She looked like an Egyptian queen, too, with blunt-cut raven hair and luminous skin she later confided was a result of ‘moon-bathing’ in the nude on her terrace. To give credit where credit is due, she was to play an equally important role in my imminent corruption.
Caroline gave me an appraising once-over. I was used to men looking: construction workers or the dads in the neighborhood who followed me with their eyes as they watered their lawns with leaky hoses. Those stares embarrassed me, but made my insides feel warm and tingly. From a girl, however, it felt more like a chilly finger sliding down my spine.
‘You’re right, M.B. But in my defense, she’s changed a lot since we were kids. She was always reciting some endless poem or waving around her straight“A” report card so she could weasel a silver dollar from Grandpa. I thought she was revolting. But since the hormones have kicked in, I do see more of a family resemblance. She could use a little more up top though.’
‘You know what they say—more than a mouthful’s a waste,’ I said cheerfully.
Caroline studied me for a moment, then seemed to decide she would find me amusing. ‘You have changed, haven’t you? Well, make yourself at home in my boudoir, Cousin. Have some champagne.’ Caroline handed me the bottle. Apparently, the preferred method of consumption was swigging it down like soda pop. I took a swallow and immediately felt dizzy.
‘Tell me all about yourself, Lydia. Do you have a boyfriend?’ Marybeth asked, her eyes suddenly wide and innocent.
‘Yes.’
Harris and I were perfectly matched by the social standards of our high school: two smart kids comfortable enough with Shakespeare to play the fairy king and queen in the class production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We read Stanislavsky together, sharpened our wit by mocking the popular kids behind their backs, and made plans to travel the world together. Not boring places like France or Hawaii, but heroic spiritual adventures like trekking in Nepal or purifying our souls under freezing waterfalls in the mountains of Japan. I knew none of this would give me much boyfriend credit with my present company, but at least I could say I had one.
‘Is he good in bed?’ That was my cousin.
I shrugged and took another gulp of the champagne. With the skill of expensive attorneys, the girls quickly established that Harris and I had had a few tepid make-out sessions in the five months we were together, and his date of choice was the ballet, when he could get cheap tickets.
‘Oh Lydia,’ Caroline said, shaking her head, ‘it’s very cool to have a gay guy as a friend, but I’m afraid he’s holding you back from your full potential. I mean, don’t you ever get the itch?’
I felt a blush rise on my cheeks. I did get a secret feeling down there now and then—OK, pretty much every night—and I knew exactly how to relieve it in my bed under the covers, but no torture could get me to divulge that secret. They did, however, get me to confess that I’d never had sex, even though I turned eighteen a few weeks before.
‘Lydia, I cannot allow you to go to college a virgin. The honor of our family is at stake.’
‘Besides, you’re too pretty to be a virgin,’ Marybeth drawled.
The champagne made another round, and Caroline patted the bed for me to sit down. ‘Marybeth and I can help you. We know a lot of foxy guys who’d be more than willing to be your first. We could have a party and you could pick the one you like.’
The idea was so absurd, I just grinned foolishly. They seemed to take my silence for agreement, however, because Marybeth reached over and pulled me back on the bed beside her. Caroline kept her perch at the edge of the bed, gazing down at us with a strange little smile.
‘We’ll take care of you,’ Marybeth cooed. She ran her fingertips over my forearm, as if she were stroking a kitten. Part of me wanted to jerk away, but to be honest, the champagne was making me horny and it felt nice. As I lay there, Caroline’s warm, soft bed seemed to suck me in even deeper. Could it really be that easy to get laid—throw a party, pick your favorite stud, and bye-bye virginity?
‘So what kind of refreshments will you serve for a lose-my-cherry party?’ I asked. ‘Lots of maraschinos and cherry pie?’
Caroline’s smirk stretched into a genuine smile. ‘That’s the spirit. But we’ll have to wait until spring break so we can invite the college boys. They generally know what they’re doing—like how to find the right hole—which is better for your first time. Who do you think will be best for Lydia, M.B.? How about Todd?’
Marybeth cringed. ‘He’s too big for the first time. Ouch!’
‘Sean? He’s the literary, sensitive type. Lydia might like him.’
‘I think Doug is the cutest.’
‘Mr. 69? He’ll be so busy eating her, he’ll forget to fuck her, and that’s the whole point. But some day you have to get together with him, Lydia. An experience not to be missed.’ She and Marybeth exchanged a private look. ‘He’ll want you to blow him, though. Do you know how?’
‘I think we’ve already established I’m clueless when it comes to sex.’ I was familiar with the concept of oral sex from discussions with my own friends, but whenever I heard the words ‘blow job,’ I couldn’t get beyond the image of huffing and puffing at some guy’s crotch as if I were blowing out birthday candles to make my wish come true. This was my chance to get some expert advice.
Marybeth nuzzled my shoulder. Her hair smelled of peaches, and her breasts pressed against my arm like hot little pillows. I felt sweat rise on my skin where we touched. ‘Oh, Cousin Lydia, you are too cute.’
Caroline narrowed her eyes. Her gaze was more like a guy’s now, all glittery and full of schemes I didn’t quite understand. ‘What do you say we give you a little blow job lesson tonight, Lydia?’
I
