“Right,” I say. “What’s it gonna be then? Girls Wanted for Foot Modeling or Girls Wanted for Specialist Adult Movie Shoot – must be willing to cover themselves in jello and chocolate?”
“Decisions, decisions!” laughs Kendall.
But even as I’m joking, I can’t help my gaze drifting once again to that strange and curious advert in the middle of the page ...
Virgin wanted ...
That eveningI step into my apartment and kick off my shoes, glad to give my feet a rest from those cheap-ass, fake leather pumps. I look around me and sigh. Even though I’ve done the very best I can with this tiny shoebox of an apartment, it’sstillpretty crappy looking. I guess there’s only so far a girl can go with Goodwill and imagination ...
I flop down onto the beat up couch and turn on the small, second-hand TV. But as I’m flipping through the channels, it’s all I can think about again.
Virgin Wanted ...
I turn off the set once more and then pick my purse up off the floor by the couch and slip out my sketchbook. I flip to the back page and then sit there, staring for a while at that mysterious email address - [email protected] – feeling my heart quickening again, the longer I stare at it.
I’d always considered my virginity as something to be embarrassed about – a secret kept close to my chest.
I don’t even knowwhyI’m still a virgin. I’m mean, I’m only twenty-one years old, so it’s not like I’m not an old maid or anything just yet. I guess I’m still just waiting for the right guy to come along.
But that’s just stupid daydream stuff, right?
Right now, I’m totally broke. And if I don’t find another jobquick smart, then I can kiss goodbye to this tiny crappy shoebox of an apartment, too. And for some reason, seeing that ad kind of feels like ... I don’t know.
Fate?
A sign?
Because my virginity is practically the one thing I haveleft, the only thing that sets me apart from every other girl in this city. And here is some advert actuallyaskingfor a virgin ... Well, these days it feels like there aren’t too many of us left.
I sigh again with frustration.
I mean, is this something so completely crazy that I shouldn’t even be contemplating it? Is answering this advert the first step towards my body being found in some ditch somewhere, wrapped in tarpaulin? Or is this actually just something totally normal – the kind of thing that a modern girl these days wouldn’t think twice about replying to?
Damn. I wish there was someone I could talk to right now; someone who’s opinion I could ask.
You see, I don’t really have a best friend. I moved away from my home state two years ago for a fresh start here in Philly. But all I managed to get was this dismal apartment and a badly paid job as a receptionist which is about to come to an end.
I keep telling myself to go out more, meet new people, make some real friends. But I just feel too shy. I mean, Kendall is great and all. She’s really fun to work with and she’s totally kept me sane at the office. But we’re just not that close. We’re only work colleagues – not BFFs.
And as for family? Let’s just say that’s kind of complicated.
Which brings me back to my current dilemma.
I sigh in frustration, wishing I knew the answer.
What’s a girl to do?
But I guess, as usual, I’m on my own in figuring this one out ...
Two
Marcus
“Is thereanything else I can do for you, Mr Whitelaw?”
I look up from my computer, realizing that Julia, my ditzy secretary, isstillstanding there, looking back hopefully at me with those big blue eyes of hers like she’s hoping I’ll just spin around in my chair, unzip my fly, and nod down at my cock, saying, “Well, there isone more thingyou could take care of ...”
But instead, I simply shake my head and say, “That will be all, Julia,” feeling a wave of relief when she finally turns and heads out of the office, leaving me alone at my desk.
