Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride. Brian SweanyЧитать онлайн книгу.
since Friday morning.”
Losing your virginity the day before your girlfriend starts her period is like winning the lottery and being forced to wait a week to cash in your ticket. Contrary to popular belief, “blue balls” is not a figment of a teenage boy’s imagination, much less some psychosomatic last-ditch effort to get some action. I did the research after Dad’s vasectomy reversal. There’s a medical term for it—epididymitis, defined as an inflammation of the epididymis, or scrotal sac. Blue balls occur, more or less, when the scrotal sac is stopped up with sperm that left the testes but not the penis. The vas deferens is the conduit for the sperm from the testes to the urethra, and whenever it’s blocked it feels like someone is wailing on your balls with a Louisville Slugger.
Laura leads me by the hand into her bedroom. The walls, bed linens, and window treatments are all pink. Pictures line various bookshelves, bedside tables, and a lone tall dresser on the wall to the left of her bed. Parents, brothers, grandparents, classmates, and various younger incarnations of Laura stand shoulder to shoulder, angling for a better view.
Today is nothing like last Saturday. Last Saturday we were drunk. It was dark. Even now, a week after having sex and some seven odd months into our relationship, we’re in a way still alien to one another. For today, at least, there’s a reckless immodesty to us both. Two windows stand perpendicular to one another, one on Laura’s north wall and the other on the west wall. Laura doesn’t bother drawing the shades. The sun pours into the room. We strip each other naked, pausing after each discarded piece of clothing, as if we’ve never seen bare skin in the light of day. As Laura slips out of her panties, first her left foot then her right, she rests her head on my chest. We sway back and forth, synchronizing our breaths, each of us getting used to the feel of the other’s skin against our own.
We walk over to the bed. Laura wants me on top again. I fumble with the condom, trying to put it on inside out.
“Here, let me get that.” Laura pulls off the condom, flipping it over. With her right hand she reaches down and unrolls the condom in one adroit motion.
I climb off Laura and sit up on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.”
Laura sits up, sweating. She seems to appreciate my endurance more than me. She kisses my bare shoulder. “Oh my God, Hank, what the hell are you apologizing for?”
I silently curse myself for masturbating twice before I got here. “For taking so long.”
“I should be thanking you.”
“Why? Did you, uh…” My eyes dip below her waistline. “Have an orgasm?”
She smiles. “Damn straight I did.”
I smile right back at her. “Well, that’s good, then. It just felt a little weird on my end. I think it was the condom.”
This is my first subtle admission to Laura that I’m new to this. She doesn’t pick up on the hint. “It’s just one of those things you get used to again, right?”
I play along. “It’s been awhile. I guess I just forgot.”
Laura wraps her arm around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. “I once heard a stand-up comedian say that having sex with a condom is like eating a delicious steak with a balloon on your tongue.”
I laugh. “That’s fucking hilarious.”
“But true?”
“Hell, yes!”
Laura stands up. She walks across the room in the nude, and there’s something about her—something more tender than sexual. Her footfalls are soft, like she doesn’t want to disturb the moment. She presses the balls of her bare feet against the ground, her calves contracting. The bottom curves of her ass jiggle, like two smiley faces. She reaches down and grabs her pair of jean shorts off the floor. She slips her feet into the shorts, first her right foot, then her left.
I approach her, white bikini top in my hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Laura encases her breasts within the cups of her bikini top, pulling it tight and around her back. She turns her back to me. “Can you fasten me?”
I reach for the bikini and hook the two ends together. I kiss her on the neck. “Let’s not make a habit of me helping you put your clothes on.”
“Deal.” Laura kisses me on the cheek. “I’m starving. How about you?”
We sit at the kitchen table while splitting a Diet Coke and a plate of microwave nachos. My side of the nachos has jalapenos. Her side is plain. I notice a stack of college applications on the kitchen table.
“You hear from Bucknell yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Laura has been trying to get into Bucknell University for about a year, taking and retaking her standardized tests. Her father went there, and she’s been counting on the legacy angle to offset her above-average-though-not-quite-excellent academic record. She’s on the waiting list.
I always knew being a year behind Laura in school would suck—the senior spring break that so predictably blew up in my face, the long trek toward our inevitable goodbye, the tedious vetting of colleges. But I play along, for her.
“Earlham still the backup plan?” I ask.
Laura forces a half grin. “I suppose. Everything’s ready. Got my housing and courses lined up. What about you?”
“College? It’s way too soon for me to be thinking—”
“No, silly. Did you hear from Hoosier Boys State?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I heard from them.”
“And?”
“And I got in.”
Laura kisses me on the lips, tells me how proud she is of me. I don’t get it. Mom just told me it would look good on my college application, so I applied and got accepted. The local Rotary Club is picking up my tab. “‘Hoosier Boys State is a week-long learning experience in the operation of our democratic form of government, the organization of a political party, and the practical application of the knowledge gained from both,’” Mom read from the brochure. She told me, “Senator Birch Bayh, Congressman Lee Hamilton, Senator Dick Lugar, and Terry Lester all attended Hoosier Boys State,” and I acted impressed. Well, Terry Lester is impressive. He originated the role of Jack Abbott on The Young and the Restless. Uncle Mitch went to college with Terry at Indiana Central. I wonder if Terry ever shared his dreams with Uncle Mitch of being the heir to a pretend cosmetics conglomerate. I wonder if Uncle Mitch ever shared his dreams with Terry of touching little boys’ peckers.
“When do you go?”
“Second week in July.”
“That’s not that far away.”
“Nope. And my family’s in Hilton Head for the Fourth.”
Laura pouts. “We’ll hardly get to see each other. If I somehow manage to get into Bucknell, I could leave as early as August. That sucks.”
I reach over and rub her arm. “Let’s not get all stressed out. How about we agree to just make the most of the summer we have together, okay?”
“Okay.”
I pick the jalapeno off the lone nacho left on the plate and pop it in my mouth. I hand the chip to Laura. “Last one’s yours.”
“For me? You shouldn’t have.” She cranes her neck, grabs the chip out of my hand…with her mouth.
“You know, Laura, this might all work out for the better.”
“What might all work out?”
“College.”
“You think I still got a chance with Bucknell?”
“Maybe, but…”
“But