Bex:Coreyyyy
Corey:I’ll be back in a few weeks for the awards show
Bex:fancy
Corey:do you
Corey:would you want to go with me?
Only a few hours have passed since Corey dropped me off at my apartment and headed to the airport. I lay in my bed, already missing the warmth of his embrace and the delightful pressure of his weight above mine. Every part of my body is sore—deliciously sore—from round after round of sex with Corey.
I have never experienced sex the way I did with Corey. Yes, he’s far more experienced than me, but I could sense he was holding back. Holding back, or maybe, simply not performing? I couldn’t quite tell, and I was too timid to ask, but I went with the flow. Wherever he held me, bent me, twisted me, cuddled me, I surrendered to a euphoria that’s been missing from my life. And I didn’t realize it until now.
Glancing at my phone, I realize it’s been almost ten minutes since Corey sent me the text asking me to go to his awards show with him. I wonder if he’s on his plane, if he’s flying private or commercial. Why didn’t he remember to ask me during our twenty-four hours together…
Rolling to my side, I feel a soreness tug at my abdomen and hips. Ah, right. He was more focused on burying himself within me and, to be honest, suddenly I’m not all that upset about a text invite to an awards show.
Bex:I’ve never been to an awards show before
Corey:you don’t have to go, honestly
Corey:I want you to feel comfortable
Corey:and that life can be overwhelming
Corey:my life
Bex:yes
Corey:yes… it’s overwhelming?
Bex:(rofl emoji) yes, but also yes
Bex:I’ll go with you
Twinging at the pull of my muscles, I roll out of bed and burst out into the living room where Ally and Britney are watching TV.
“What the fuck do I wear to an awards show for porn?”
Striding into the youth center with the newly purchased photo printer in my tote bag, I feel on top of the world. I cannot wait tofigure out how this thing works, and to see the excitement on the kid’s faces when their masterpieces become tangible pieces of art.
I’m barely through the front door of the center when I hear someone call my name.
“Bex, hey!”
I turn to see Patrick, the youth center director, leaning out of his office.
“Hey, Patrick, what’s up?” I’m a bit stiff when it comes to Patrick. I know managing the youth center isn’t a glamorous job, but he makes absolutely no effort to involve the greater community or to seek out donations. It’s like he just sits in his office and twiddles his thumbs every day.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” he asks, nodding at my tote.
“Oh, I picked up a photo printer. The kids will be able to print the pictures we’ve been taking for weeks.” Patrick forces a smile, but I can tell he’s got something to say about. “Spit it out, Patrick. What’s wrong with me buying this printer?”
He sighs and says, “I’m sure it wasn’t cheap, huh?”
“What’s the point, Patrick? I bought this with my own money. I’m not asking the center for anything.”
“Good, because we don’t have a budget for fancy things like that, much less for the art program.”
