V-Card:Sharing Spaces: Book 1By: Alicia Michaels
This book is definitely different than anything I’ve ever written. Fantasy has been my comfort zone for so long, I was filled with trepidation about stepping into the New Adult Contemporary genre. Luckily, I had so much love and encouragement from the people around me from the start that I couldn’t help but feel emboldened to take the step. Thank you to my wonderful Fabulous Fae Street Team for being my cheer squad during the inception of this book. Special thanks to my lovely beta readers: Carly Fall, Carrie Blair, Donna Connery, Tanya Johnson, Megan Steitz, Amy Wells, and Kim Culbertson for helping me to make this story even better!
My name is Jennifer Nolan, and I am a twenty-year-old virgin. Doesn’t sound too bad, does it? Twenty is still young, and I know a lot of people would argue that no teenager should be having sex in high school. Spare me the abstinence lecture. Seriously.
Really, it wouldn’t be so bad if I’d never had a boyfriend. It wouldn’t be so bad if I’d never been kissed, were a social outcast, or a lesbian. However, the truth is, I have had several boyfriends. I’ve been kissed a lot. I wasn’t popular in high school, but I was social and had lots of friends. I am not a lesbian.
The problem is not that I’ve never had a chance. In fact, I’ve had way too many chances and absolutely no success. My cherry is firmly in place, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get rid of it. What’s the big deal, you’re probably wondering. I could see why you might ask that. I’m only twenty, I haven’t graduated college yet, and am not dating anyone seriously right now. I managed to make it through my teens without getting knocked up or getting an STD. I guess I’ve done all right for myself in that regard.
The big deal is, with each attempt I became more and more psyched out about it. It makes me all itchy and fidgety just to think about it. And I don’t mean fidgety in the way of some big-breasted romance novel heroine. Nothing heaves or spasms, and my heavy breathing is not sexy. We’re talking hives and wheezing into a paper bag here. Definitely not attractive.
Each attempt has gone worse than the last, until just the thought of taking my clothes off and getting into bed with anybody throws me into a state of panic.
My mission? To lose my stupid virginity by my twenty-first birthday ... which is in two months. I can’t very well go into the next phase of adulthood with my v-card. How can I honestly call myself a ‘woman’ if I fidget, wheeze, and just about have a heart attack at even the thought of intimacy? Any guy I date is going to wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
So, it’s happening. I’m not sure when, or with who—since I’m not dating anybody—but I’m determined not to see twenty-one without shedding that one last thing keeping me at girl-status.
Drastic, much? I don’t think so. Maybe if you knew some of my history, you wouldn’t either. First, there was Jeremy …
My first attempt was as seventeen years old, senior year. It was like something out of a cheesy movie, making out in the back of a car after Homecoming at Lookout Point. Okay, so the place isn’t called Lookout Point, but The Ridge is a cliff overlooking my small Texas hometown and people do go there to make out. Me and Jeremy had been dating for six months—a lifetime in TDT. That’s Teenage Dating Time, by the way.
Anyway, things were getting pretty hot and heavy. The windows were steamed up and we had collapsed on to the backseat in a tangle of writhing arms and legs. Jeremy had me topless and was pretty much in teenage-dude heaven. I mean, I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve got some pretty nice boobs. Not too big or anything; average size, but almost the perfect shape and symmetry. Although, with the lack of finesse Jeremy showed in handling them, I doubt he would have cared if one was three sizes bigger than the other, or if my nipples were two different colors.
That familiar tingle of horny teenage hormones was tearing me up inside, turning me into a panting, thoughtless animal. I guess that natural high was what made me bold enough to attempt my first B.J. I mean, how hard could it be? It’s not exactly rocket science.
At least, I didn’t think it was. Apparently there is a science to it, especially when you wear braces. In my enthusiasm, I might have gone in a little too hard. I slipped, my face landed in his lap, and I almost unmanned him. To be fair, the wound was superficial, but there was so much blood you’d have thought someone was stabbed to death in the back of that car.
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