Page 294 of Summer Heat
He speaks without turning me around, both of us facing the wall. “You said you’re a virgin, but exactly how inexperienced are we talking?”
The most embarrassing part is that I don’t know how to answer that question. Girls in my school whispered about what they did with their boyfriends. Lord knows Harper has told me some dirty things, but they almost felt like a made-up story to me. People don’t really do those things to each other, do they?
I would find out soon enough. I’d experience them firsthand.
“I’ve done things,” I say even though it feels like a lie.
“What kind of things?” he says, and I wonder whether it’s prurient interest or concern that compels him to ask. “Making out on the couch when Daddy isn’t home? Letting a boy feel under your shirt?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Have you ever been kissed?”
I manage to nod. That was as far as I let Justin go. He pushed me for more in the darkened back hallways at parties, in the empty storage rooms outside hotel ballrooms.
And I always told him no.
“What are you afraid of?” he murmurs.
The way he asks, I know he doesn’t mean the auction. He’s asking why I never let a boy go further with me. He’s asking why I’m still a virgin.
Our position makes it feel more intimate, as if there isn’t a stranger only a few feet behind us, as if I’m not being forced to do this. The wavy lighting adds to the effect, as if this is only in a dream. I can tell the truth because this isn’t even real.
“Daddy caught me once,” I say as if in a trance. “I was sleeping in on the weekend, or he thought I was. But I was actually touching myself.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me it was wrong. He said that it wasn’t ladylike, that that kind of behavior would disgrace our family name.” The intense shame I felt then hits me like a blow to the stomach, almost doubling me over. It’s only Gabriel’s steady presence behind me that holds me up. He hardly touches me, only the lightest brush of his hands on my arms, but they might as well be made of iron.
“And then he was the one who disgraced your family name.”
“He put chili juice on my fingers every night for a month.”
The irony is enough to make me throw up. For years I resisted what the other girls were doing, refused what the boys wanted from me. The only boy willing to wait until marriage was Justin, and it turned out that was only because he viewed our relationship as a political stepping stone.
“Stay here, little virgin.”
He moves away from me, and I feel his loss like a wintry wind. I’m alone, bereft.
The camera clicks behind me, invading my privacy, reminding me of just how public this will be. I can’t even touch my body without feeling guilt, but some stranger will soon have the right.
“Look at me.” Gabriel’s voice comes to me from near the camera.
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. Most of my face is still hidden by my hair, but he can see more of me. Is my turmoil visible in my posture? Can they read the pain in my eyes? Everything that I believed was a lie, but the truth hurts enough that I want it back.
“Touch yourself,” he says.
My heart stops, because if he wants me to do this for the camera, I’ll falter. I’ll fail.
“Tonight. When you’re in bed, alone. In the dark. Lock the door if you need to. No one will walk in on you. Touch yourself and make yourself feel good. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”
The memory comes like a tangible caress, a stroke on my private place. My lips part on a soft sigh. Heat suffuses my cheeks. I squeeze my legs together, seeking more.
The click of the camera captures my illicit pleasure.
“That’s it,” the photographer says.
Gabriel studies whatever is on the view screen, his expression enigmatic. “Yes. That’s the one.”
