Girl Crush(26)

“You okay?” Her concern was sweet, but I could tell my hesitation made her nervous.

I didn’t care if a person had a man or a woman staring at their golden valley, talking without action meant something was wrong. Sight. Smell. One of the two ate at you the longer the person dawdled. Jesus, I wish I’d had more to drink. I untucked my legs from beneath me and stretched out between her thighs to try to figure out how to enjoy this indoor picnic. Casually, I traced little designs inside her knees and on the tops of her legs while I got into position. But the moment she opened her legs like a butterfly to give me room, and I saw all there was to see, I was lost. The creases, the folds, the nub, the color changes in the skin, the way it glistened—all I could see was a cold-cut combo.

She bolted upright like she’d been shocked and scared the shit out of me. Her face was beet red, but it wasn’t embarrassment—Roxie was pissed off. “Did you just say something about deli meat while staring at my vagina?”

Crap. Crap. Crap. Twice my mind had spoken its inner thoughts with audible words. The first resulted in a much-needed orgasm, this one didn’t look like it would have a happy ending. My brow furrowed, and my lips grimaced. “Shit. I’m sorry, Roxie. I don’t—”

She pulled her legs to her chest, shielding her fluff muffin from my sight. “Just don’t. It was too fast. I get it.”

No. She had it all wrong. It had nothing to do with her. I sighed and sat back on my heels. “It’s not you, Roxie.”

Her gaze had cast to her knees before she rested her chin on them. Seeing her eyes fill with tears shocked the hell out of me. I hadn’t gotten the impression she was terribly sensitive, but I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings regardless. I knew I had to give her some plausible explanation, but I couldn’t come up with anything other than the truth. At this point, whatever mood she was in had been squashed anyhow, might as well completely slam the door on this fiasco. “I’ve never done this before.”

I couldn’t meet her stare, but I watched as her body unfolded and relaxed. She sat Indian style on the bed, which from this angle was an even less appealing view than being head on. Her fingers touched my chin and lifted it to force me to look at her.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I think that’s the equivalent of telling someone you’re a thirty-nine-year-old virgin. Not exactly something you scream from the mountaintops.”

“You’re a virgin?” Her jaw dropped.

“God, no. Not literally. Just with women.” I scoffed at her assumption.

“So is this just some weird curiosity?”

I grabbed my shirt and tugged it back over my head and reached for my panties on the floor. She might be perfectly comfortable having this heart to heart in the buff, but I wasn’t.

I asked her if she wanted the CliffsNotes version, but she assured me she wanted it all. So that’s what I gave her. The truth of my marriage. The tragedy of dating men coupled with lots of eye rolls. And the straw that broke my heterosexual back…Justin.

“You know you can’t just decide to be a lesbian, right?”

It was like I was staring into the face of my best friend. Lesbians thought they knew everything about being gay. “I’m not convinced.”

“Really?” She eyed me skeptically.

There was no point in arguing with her. Roxie had just joined Beck in the friend zone, and I was back to square one. When I left, I made sure to reinforce my desire to pursue my newfound love for roller derby. Luckily, Roxie didn’t hate me at the end of the night—somehow, I’d endeared myself to her through my cooter blunder, and there was no way she hadn’t become part of my permanent clan.





6





Even though I’d managed to salvage a friendship with Roxie, I hadn’t been able to get the sight of her Little Debbie out of my mind. The whole way home, I kept having labia flashbacks. I had a new respect for anyone who loved to taste test the fish in tuna town. I’d never studied my tunnel of love, but by the time I pulled into the garage, I was on a mission.

My feet beelined for the bedroom, where I quickly divested myself of my clothing and hauled ass into the bathroom. I climbed onto the vanity, between the two sinks, and brought my feet up onto the counter. There wasn’t a lot of space with my crap in the way, so one foot pushed stuff to the left, and the other foot moved junk to the right, leaving me spread eagle on the granite. All I had to do was lift my line of sight, and Pandora’s box would be wide open. I counted down in my head from three, determined to look on one, but failed. I tried to psych myself into it, pump myself up, generate excitement about having knowledge of my holy place. I forced my gaze to the mirror, but before I caught a glimpse of what was between my legs, I shut my eyes tightly.

This was ridiculous. I’d shaved for years. I’d touched myself, rubbed my magic button, fingered the promised land. I couldn’t begin to count the number of guys who’d pleasured my pink pearl while feasting on my cookie, and not one of them had ever complained. I hadn’t had a single man run screaming from between my legs or cry out, “My eyes,” in horror. I popped my lids open and stared in wonder at cupid’s cupboard. There was so much to see in such a tiny space. And while I had no desire to memorize it, I found myself captivated like I’d just seen my first willie in a porn. Completely mesmerized.