I guess so,’ I said, ‘but where are you going to get the penis?’
They both erupted in gales of laughter, but I rather liked making them laugh with me rather than at me.
Of course, I should have known such resourceful girls would have a handy substitute for the real thing. That’s how I found myself sitting at the edge of the bed with Marybeth kneeling before me, her lips wrapped around the base of my thumb.
I’d never felt anything like it before. Her mouth was warm and soft and liquid and my thumb seemed to float there. Next I felt a firm, undulating pressure along the bottom: her tongue. Then she began to move, squeezing with every stroke. I watched her top lip stretch out thin and smooth when she glided down, then grow full and pouty as she pulled back up, her cheeks hollow with the suction.
I giggled.
‘OK, your turn.’ Marybeth sat on the bed and presented her thumb to me. I glanced quickly at Caroline. She was watching us with great interest, as if she were challenging me to prove our bond of blood.
I knelt and tried my best to mimic Marybeth’s movements. Soon my jaw began to ache.
‘Good. Very good for the first time. I think you’re a natural.’
‘I just have to point out that most guys are bigger than your thumb, M.B.’
‘She’s doing great, it’ll translate,’ Marybeth insisted. ‘But, Lydia, you do have to remember each guy is different. What I do is pretend it’s my first time and ask him to teach me what feels good.’
My cousin snickered. ‘I’m sure they all fall for that line, M.B. By the way, are you going to tell Lydia about the grand finale?’
Marybeth nodded and proceeded to do exactly that.
‘In my mouth?’ I squealed.
Again they doubled over in laughter, but I was well past minding.
‘What does it taste like?’ I asked.
Marybeth cocked her head. ‘It’s hard to describe. Grass maybe. Warm, gooey grass.’
‘I’d say more like Clorox mixed with snot,’ Caroline said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘But here’s the deal, Lydia. There are two kinds of women in this world. Those who swallow and those who don’t. Naturally, Marybeth and I do.’
‘You have to if you want to be the crème de la crème,’ Marybeth said, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘It’s worth it though, Lydia. It’s kind of pathetic how grateful they are. And if you swallow it quickly, you don’t even really taste it.’
I sat there in silence, taking it all in. I really did feel that I was standing at a crossroads in my life. One path led into the dewy morning sunlight where I would be the girl all the grown-ups thought I was—serious, pure of mind and body, safe and reliable. The other road was shadowy, hidden by curtains of moist foliage, fragrant with musk and intoxicating spices, the path of The Kind Who Swallowed.
‘Hey, Caroline,’ I said, ‘did you really mean it when you said you’d throw a party for me?’
‘I always mean what I say. Put it in your calendar—the first Saturday of spring break. I’ll take care of everything. You just come and pick out your favorite guy.’
‘What if no one wants to do it with me?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about that. Guys are the real sluts, you know, no matter what they call us when they get mad. They’ll get it on with anyone, especially after a couple of beers. Not that you’re just anyone. You’re supposed to be my cousin, right?’
I smiled and took the last swallow of the champagne. ‘What if I want them all?’
Caroline gave a low, witchy laugh that almost made me like her. ‘You know, Lydia, I’m beginning to think we are related.’
CHAPTER THREE
Over the next month, Caroline and I actually became friends in our own way, after a lifetime of rivalry and mutual disdain. Sex deserves the credit for bringing us together, because it’s pretty much all we talked about during our party-planning phone calls.
At first I tried to back out of it, but Caroline was determined that the party would happen just as she’d planned, and she had answers for every excuse I offered.
Of course I didn’t have to be in love with the guy, she argued, it was my duty to explore and experiment first so that when I did find a guy I loved, I could appreciate him. And no, we weren’t exploiting her friends by planning it in advance. After all, wasn’t it a time-honored tradition for an experienced relative to take a young man to a brothel where he learned his first lessons in pleasure? Why couldn’t women do it, too? Besides, she’d bet her new car that whichever guy I chose would welcome the exploitation.
Finally I confessed my real fear. ‘Suppose he freaks out when he discovers it’s my first time?’
‘Most of them will probably be flattered, but I guess there could be the odd throwback who still thinks the first time should be special. So, if he asks—and he probably won’t—you should just lie.’
‘But he’ll be able to tell, won’t he?’
‘Absolutely not, Lydia, because you’re going to do “homework.” And we both know what a good student you are.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that the next time you play with yourself—and I know you do, so don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about—you should put something bigger than a finger inside. That way it won’t hurt much at all when the guy puts his dick in.’
‘Caroline,’ I said, a nervous laugh bubbling up in my throat, ‘I don’t think I can go through with this.’
But the truth was, the more we talked, the more I wanted to do it. Caroline was offering me more than an A-list group of Ivy League boys from a rich D.C. suburb, a keg of beer to put them in the mood, and the free run of her house, with Aunt Jean and Uncle Bob tucked safely away in a country inn on Maryland’s Eastern Shore for the weekend. She was giving me something even more precious—the freedom to travel to a foreign land where I could do anything and be anything I wanted, if only for one night.
It was a gift I’d have to travel halfway around the world to find again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caroline was clever to call it ‘homework.’ She knew I couldn’t resist the chance to get an ‘A,’ even if it was in the art of masturbation. And so I told my mother I had to study for a test and retired to my bedroom early that night.
I lay in the darkness, my hairbrush beside me, the handle carefully washed with mild soap and dried with a clean towel. My heart was pounding in my throat. I played with myself all the time, but I’d never put anything inside, not even a finger. Would there be blood? Would I scream out in pain? Would my hairbrush respect me in the morning?
My hands wandered under the covers, and I slowly hiked
