“Well?” Daisy pushed and I blinked, repeatedly, as Jet applied mascara.
“I don’t think so,” I answered, trying to talk and keep my mouth open at the same time. “Though the only thing I ever did was um…” I stopped, wondering how I’d gotten into this mess with this gaggle of women I didn’t even know, sharing stuff so private I wouldn’t have even told Auntie Reba about it. “Touch my tongue to his neck and ran my hands up his back.”
“What’d he do when you did that?” Indy asked, twisting the curling iron around another lock of hair.
“Well, he kind of… groaned and then things kind of… escalated,” I fought for the words.
“He liked it,” Roxie declared and I could hear a smile in her voice.
“Just pay attention, listen and learn. He’ll have hot spots and you’ll find them. Just explore,” Daisy advised.
“Hon,” May butted in, speaking for the first time since everyone got there (other than to say, “I’ll take one of them margaritas.”), “folks have been doin’ this since folks have existed. It’s instinctive. Just relax. What I saw today, that boy’s so into you, you got nothin’ to worry about. He’ll lead the way.”
I took a deep breath and nodded (slightly, Jet was still doing my mascara).
“What does she do when he um…” Jet started but didn’t finish.
“It’ll hurt,” Roxie said.
“Mine didn’t hurt,” Ally said and went on, “just a twinge. Hardly any blood at all.”
My wide eyes widened further and I looked at Jet who was so close to my face she was all I could see. She pulled back, her hand went to my knee and she squeezed.
“Mine hurt like a mother,” Roxie muttered.
“Jules is old enough maybe she doesn’t have a cherry anymore. You go horseback ridin’, Sugar?” Daisy asked me.
“That’s an urban myth,” Indy cut in before I could answer. “I didn’t feel mine at all,” she finished then she unraveled a new curl.
“You were drunk off your ass,” Ally put in.
“Was not,” Indy retorted.
“You were too,” Ally returned.
“Gettin’ drunk may be a good thing. Loosen you up a bit,” Daisy suggested.
“Can we stop talking about this?” I asked suddenly. “I’m sorry but it’s freaking me out.”
“I’m with Jules. Let’s stop talking about this. Blood and pain. Ick. It’s making me squeamish,” Tod said. I glanced his way and he did, indeed, look pale.
“But –” Daisy protested.
“Daisy,” Stevie said quietly, “Jules asked us to stop talking about it.”
Daisy leaned back, crossed her arms on her massive chest (no mean feat) and started pouting, clearly denied the likely gory details of her own deflowering.
“Just a little cherry lip balm. Don’t want color just in case he kisses you,” Jet muttered to herself, swiping my mouth with balm. Then she announced, “Done with her makeup.” She leaned back and took in my face with a discerning eye.
Tod moved in behind her. “Girlie, you are the Mistress of Makeup. She looks like a goddamned movie star.”
Everyone came around to look. They all nodded approvingly except Daisy.
“Needs more sparkle,” Daisy muttered.
“Shut up, Daisy,” Indy said, unwrapping another curl then she gouged some gunk from a jar, rubbed it in her hands, ran her fingers through my hair and mussed it. She stepped back, pulling some tendrils here and there away from my face. Then she looked at the finished product and smiled. “Hair’s done.”
“Um, hate to tell you this, hon,” May broke into the Check Out Jules Fest, “but you got fifteen minutes to get dressed and get this place cleaned up or he’ll be here and see your posse givin’ you the works.”