A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl by Tanya Lee Stone

brown, but not
mousey brown.
And it’s wavy without being too curly or frizzy.
I move my head from side to side, letting my loose
hair tickle my skin.
    I think I’ll leave my necklace on—it’s a silver figure of Venus with her toes pointing downward, and she’s holding a sleek round garnet in her hands. It looks sexy with nothing else on.
    He’ll be here any minute.
My parents won’t be home until after dinner.
Perfect.
    Joni Mitchell’s
Court and Spark
keeps me company.
I play my guitar along with her.
Soothing sounds.
    Doorbell rings.
    Heart pounds.
    I left the door open.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs.
“Viv?”
I still hate being called Viv, but not when it’s him
saying it.
    â€œUp here.”
    He opens my bedroom door.
    â€œLook at you.”

READY OR NOT
    He walks over to the bed.
I am sitting on the edge,
completely naked
my guitar
strategically placed.
    â€œHi,” I whisper.
    He sits down next to me,
doesn’t say a word,
doesn’t take his eyes off mine while he
gently takes my guitar away,
and lays me down.
    He traces my lips with his fingers,
    brushes the hair off my forehead.
Neither one of us is smiling,
I’m trembling and in that second I realize that
even though I’m dying for him, I’m scared, too.
I’m grateful that he hasn’t started ripping off his
clothes or anything.
In fact, it’s like the whole world
just went into slow motion,
like one of those old silent movies.
    Joni Mitchell’s words are coming out warbled and low, her big toothy mouth opening and closing in my mind.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I hear him say, as I fast-forward back
into the present.
    He takes a condom out of his back pocket.
Is this really happening?
Why is he so prepared?
Does he always keep one in his pocket?
How many times has he done this?
    Ugh, I’m killing my own mood.
I’m giving myself a stomachache.
I look into his eyes.
    Oh god, is this really about to happen?
    He smiles at me.
“You’re sure you’re ready?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, “just kiss me.”
I don’t want to talk, to think, to reason,
I’ve already made my decision.
“Please, just kiss me.”

FOREVER
    His hands are big and they’re everywhere,
stroking, squeezing
my body seems like one big blur,
I’m sure this is supposed to be making me hot and wild,
but I’m just feeling kind of groped.
Maybe this isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I guess I’m not participating all that much, because he
takes my hand
and puts it on his crotch.
I can feel him through his jeans.
I pull my hand back.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Doesn’t that feel good?” he says. “Yes,” I manage to say, and let him put my hand back where he wants it.
    â€œMmm,” he mumbles.
“You’re so soft. You feel so good.”
Making him feel good makes me feel good.
I want more of that.
    Pretty soon I have what I wanted.
The full weight of his body lying on top of mine.
Breathing him in.
This feels right.
His face presses into my neck, our bodies press
together,
in this split second it’s like I’ve known him forever,
like we’re connected, linked up.
I’ll remember this feeling
forever.
    Then he starts to move and I feel poked at again.
A mix of pain and pleasure
curls through my body.
    The smell of him, the weight of him,
the sounds of him, all fill some kind of
ancient longing in me I never knew existed.
    And then it is over.
    Just like that.
Shouldn’t an ancient void being filled
feel more profound?
I open my mouth and say the only words that seem
appropriate:
“I love you.”
    But I don’t think he hears me, because a minute later he is snoring.

555-3142
    He went home a little while ago.
He left his T-shirt here and his smell is all over it.
I keep taking deep sniffs. It smells so, so, so good.
    I want to call him,
hear his voice.
Well, I want him to call me,