water, rubbing her forearm against the gritty sand. A couple was strolling down the beach. Jamie gathered herself up and ran to Flip before the couple could reach her.
Back at the blanket, Flip directed Jamie down so she was on her back again. He wedged his tongue into her mouth and resumed the pummeling.
Jamie’s eyes were running and a chunk of vomit dangled in the back of her throat. She wondered if Flip could taste her barf. She wondered how long this would take.
She wondered if Tammy and Debbie had been lying to her about how good this was supposed to feel. And she wondered, most of all, why instead of things getting better as she progressed in sex (kissing, fondling, finger banging, oral sex, sex), they seemed to get worse.
Flip groaned and released a thick stream of sticky liquid onto Jamie’s belly. Jamie ignored the puddle, sat up, and rushed to get her clothes on.
“It’ll get better,” Flip said. “It’ll be easier next time, you’ll see.” He leaned over and kissed her again just as she was swallowing down that wayward chunk of barf.
“Let’s go back to the others.” Jamie stood and waited for Flip at the edge of the rock.
Flip wrapped his arm around Jamie as they walked back to the campground. Their steps were out of sync and they bumped into each other, Jamie’s hand hopelessly bouncing around Flip’s waist, as they staggered silently down the beach.
Back at the campsite, Flip drank so much beer that he tripped on a rock and fell onto the fire pit of the barbeque. Everyone jumped up in a panic and Flip rolled in the dirt even though the flames had failed to catch him. The near-burning gave the group a sense of elation and joy, the euphoria that usually follows survival of near-death experiences.
They became louder, more active, like animals infused with a whiff of prey. Debbie opened a new bag of potato chips and began breaking handfuls in her palm before shoveling them into her mouth. Tammy held a mouthful of beer in her open mouth, then added potato chips so she could taste the full salt-fizz. And the boys took turns jumping onto the edge of the barbeque and standing, legs splayed, over the licking flames so they could feel a surge of manhood as they risked burning their balls.
Jamie sat alone on a sleeping bag, watching. She felt as if she were trapped behind a panel of one-way glass: she could see through to her friends, but when they looked toward her, all they saw was themselves.
Tammy and Debbie eventually staggered over to Jamie and sat on either side of her.
“I’m so wasted,” Tammy said, “that I forgot you just lost your virginity!”
Debbie laughed as she crumbled more chips to put in her mouth.
“Well?” Tammy said. “Did you have an orgasm?”
“Did he make noises?” Debbie asked. “Jimmy always sounds like a puppy, you know, like he’s whining to come in the house or something.”
“Did it hurt?” Tammy asked.
“I didn’t really feel anything.” Jamie lowered her voice, even though the boys weren’t listening and were too far away to hear.
“Are you sure he was in?” Debbie asked.
“I think so,” Jamie said. “But it just felt like, I dunno, like a too big tampon that I couldn’t quite get in.”
“So he wasn’t in?” Tammy said.
“Does it feel good for you every single time?” Jamie asked.
“Pretty much,” Debbie said, and she looked up at Jimmy, waving to him as he stood in a victory pose over the fire.
“I have at least two orgasms every time,” Tammy said. “I swear.”
“Maybe it wasn’t really in,” Jamie said. “ ’Cause there was no way I was going to have anything even close to an orgasm. In fact, I barfed.”
There was a beat of silence, then Debbie asked, “What do you mean you barfed? Like, while you were doing it?”
“I got up and barfed in the ocean, then went back to the blanket and finished the act.”
“That is so sad!” Debbie laughed.
“It was the beer, not the sex,” Jamie
Back at the blanket, Flip directed Jamie down so she was on her back again. He wedged his tongue into her mouth and resumed the pummeling.
Jamie’s eyes were running and a chunk of vomit dangled in the back of her throat. She wondered if Flip could taste her barf. She wondered how long this would take.
She wondered if Tammy and Debbie had been lying to her about how good this was supposed to feel. And she wondered, most of all, why instead of things getting better as she progressed in sex (kissing, fondling, finger banging, oral sex, sex), they seemed to get worse.
Flip groaned and released a thick stream of sticky liquid onto Jamie’s belly. Jamie ignored the puddle, sat up, and rushed to get her clothes on.
“It’ll get better,” Flip said. “It’ll be easier next time, you’ll see.” He leaned over and kissed her again just as she was swallowing down that wayward chunk of barf.
“Let’s go back to the others.” Jamie stood and waited for Flip at the edge of the rock.
Flip wrapped his arm around Jamie as they walked back to the campground. Their steps were out of sync and they bumped into each other, Jamie’s hand hopelessly bouncing around Flip’s waist, as they staggered silently down the beach.
Back at the campsite, Flip drank so much beer that he tripped on a rock and fell onto the fire pit of the barbeque. Everyone jumped up in a panic and Flip rolled in the dirt even though the flames had failed to catch him. The near-burning gave the group a sense of elation and joy, the euphoria that usually follows survival of near-death experiences.
They became louder, more active, like animals infused with a whiff of prey. Debbie opened a new bag of potato chips and began breaking handfuls in her palm before shoveling them into her mouth. Tammy held a mouthful of beer in her open mouth, then added potato chips so she could taste the full salt-fizz. And the boys took turns jumping onto the edge of the barbeque and standing, legs splayed, over the licking flames so they could feel a surge of manhood as they risked burning their balls.
Jamie sat alone on a sleeping bag, watching. She felt as if she were trapped behind a panel of one-way glass: she could see through to her friends, but when they looked toward her, all they saw was themselves.
Tammy and Debbie eventually staggered over to Jamie and sat on either side of her.
“I’m so wasted,” Tammy said, “that I forgot you just lost your virginity!”
Debbie laughed as she crumbled more chips to put in her mouth.
“Well?” Tammy said. “Did you have an orgasm?”
“Did he make noises?” Debbie asked. “Jimmy always sounds like a puppy, you know, like he’s whining to come in the house or something.”
“Did it hurt?” Tammy asked.
“I didn’t really feel anything.” Jamie lowered her voice, even though the boys weren’t listening and were too far away to hear.
“Are you sure he was in?” Debbie asked.
“I think so,” Jamie said. “But it just felt like, I dunno, like a too big tampon that I couldn’t quite get in.”
“So he wasn’t in?” Tammy said.
“Does it feel good for you every single time?” Jamie asked.
“Pretty much,” Debbie said, and she looked up at Jimmy, waving to him as he stood in a victory pose over the fire.
“I have at least two orgasms every time,” Tammy said. “I swear.”
“Maybe it wasn’t really in,” Jamie said. “ ’Cause there was no way I was going to have anything even close to an orgasm. In fact, I barfed.”
There was a beat of silence, then Debbie asked, “What do you mean you barfed? Like, while you were doing it?”
“I got up and barfed in the ocean, then went back to the blanket and finished the act.”
“That is so sad!” Debbie laughed.
“It was the beer, not the sex,” Jamie
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