Free Confessions of a Virgin Sex Columnist! by Kay Marie

back.
    Me: Well, you set us up, so obviously you didn’t think the age difference was a big deal. Why should I?
    The little texting thought bubble pops up, showing me Ollie is typing something. But then it disappears. Pops up again. Disappears.
    Don't look up. Don't look up.
    I look up.
    I turn.
    And there he is, standing in the doorway—the same one Glenn first walked out of—casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed. His hair looks even darker against the crisp white of his chef's suit, his furrowed eyebrows look stark against his pearly skin, and his normally full peach lips are drawn in a thin line. But then again, mine are too.
    The door opens behind him.
    Glenn.
    Available Glenn. Smiling Glenn. Excited Glenn.
    Ollie moves out of his way and goes back into the kitchen, not bothering to look at me again. I pull my lips wide, feigning enthusiasm as Glenn makes his way back to the table.
    He's so nice. He's so kind. He's so fun.
    But he's not Ollie.
    I eat the cheesecake. I rave over how amazing it tastes. I thank him profusely for taking the time to make something so delicious just for me. And when the meal is over, I let him lead me outside even though the back of my neck tingles the entire time, alert to the fact that someone is watching me and I know exactly who.
    When Glenn goes in for the kiss, I hesitate. The evening was wonderful and I haven't been kissed by a boy in months. But at the last second, I turn, offering my cheek. And he gets the message loud and clear, saying goodnight and hailing me a cab.
    The whole way home, I tell myself over and over again that no, I'm not just sitting in silence waiting for my phone to vibrate. I refuse to take it out of my purse. Refuse to look at it.
    Until, buzz , it moves on my lap.
    I rip open my bag.
    Bridget: How'd the date go?!?
    I ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.
    Me: Great!!
     
     

 
    Beautiful, fashionable women scare the crap out of me. They're like a foreign breed I don't know what to do with. Well, aside from Bridget, but I think it must be because I've known her for so long. It’s hard to be intimidated by someone you've had burping contests with…
     
     
    "I love it!" Victoria exclaims, swiveling in her chair, grinning while she reads the last few sentences of my column for next week. For a moment, I sit up higher, ears perked. And then, as per usual, she places the papers on her desk, reaches for her red pen, and goes to town.
    Each swish of her hand is a dagger to my heart. The swirls of crimson ink are my blood. And Victoria, in her crisp clementine dress and floral scarf, is my executioner. Not the most obvious outfit choice for a killer, I'll admit, but the woman is heartless as she tears my work to shreds.
    I sink so low in my chair that I can barely see over the rim of her desk. Once, just once, I would love to have a column I don’t need to write over and over—oh, I don't know, about a million times—before it's acceptable to print. But this week is not that week, and as she hands back her edits, I do my best not to crumple the sheets into a tiny ball with my furiously clenching fists.
    I've gotten much better at doing that assistant smile the other girls do. You know, the one that says I love you and I want to kill you at the same time. You sort of grind your teeth and deaden your eyes, while also pinching your cheeks and lifting your eyebrows. Yeah, that one took me a while to master. I'm pretty sure for a week there Victoria thought I was deranged. But now all she does is return a pleasant smile of her own.
    "Get me a new copy by tomorrow morning, all right?"
    I take the papers. "Of course, Victoria. I'll start working on it right away."
    And then she looks back down at her desk, shuffling through her folders to signal that I'm dismissed. As soon as I'm out of her office, the smile vanishes. I know it's not really her fault—she's just doing her job, and I'm a new reporter, and in the long run my writing will be better for it.