“The football match guy?”
“Yes, the football match guy.”
“Fritz?”
“Yes, woman! Would you just let me speak?”
She laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Please continue.”
A toilet flushes in the background. “Ew. Are you in the bathroom?”
“It’s the only quiet spot in the club. Now quit stalling, and out with it already.”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, so Fritz and I have this kind of, um, agreement,” I finally get out.
“What kind of agreement?” Margaret presses.
I can feel my cheeks getting hot. “A kind of… Sexual one?” The last words come out in more of a squeak.
“Sorry, hun. Didn’t catch that.”
My breath shakes as I let it in and out. “We have a sort of sex-slash-not-sex agreement.” I have to back my ear off the phone to avoid taking the brunt of Margaret’s squeal directly in my ear.
“Oh my god, Aurelia! Tell me everything.”
“Ugh. Everything?” There are certain things I’m definitely not telling, and the rest…Do women really talk about that kind of stuff together?
“Yes, girl, I need details. Did you guys have not-sex today? Wait, what is not-sex? It’s anal, isn’t it?”
I cough. “What? No! Criminy, Margaret.” She is cackling on the other end. “No, I asked him to show me the other things. You know, like everything but sex.”
“Aw, my little chickie is growing up,” she coos. “But seriously, who is this guy, and where did you suddenly get all this confidence?”
“Your smut books are to blame here. I’d never even thought about sex until you started shoving that filth in my face. And the guy is just a guy,” I lie.
“He must be some guy to go awakening this side of you that I’ve never known you to even remotely indulge.”
If she only knew. I’m sure she does, actually, being present at all the major court functions since she turned eighteen and all that. I know I’m not the only woman to be drawn in by our incredibly good-looking crown prince. And it’s not only his handsomeness either. The way he holds himself, like he cares about nothing and everything at the same time. How he doesn’t seek attention but somehow draws all the interest in the room. Then there’s the side the public doesn’t see, the part that I’m getting in bits and pieces with each interaction outside of official functions.
“Okay, girl, so what happened today? Tell Auntie Margaret all about it.”
I take another deep breath as the delicious fluttering starts back up inside me. “It was… Amazing! Margaret, no guy has ever made me feel this way.” I recount the whole afternoon to my best friend, leaving out the bits that would surely give away his identity. She interjects at the right spots in my story and asks more questions to drag out each detail. “And now I can’t sleep and I’m just laying here remembering it all and getting all those feelings again.”
“Have you tried masturbating?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I sputter.I mean, yeah, that’s what I was trying to do, but for her to come out and just say the word like that.
“You know, self-love, jilling off, ringing the devil’s doorbell?—”
“Stop! I got it the first time, thanks.” My stomach rolls, and just the idea is making me a little nauseous.
“Oh, you poor little repressed American,” Margaret laughs.
“I’m not repressed. I just… I never really enjoyed it.”
“Mm-hm. Repressed. I know your childhood fucked you up in the sex department, but it’s time to get out of your little cocoon of virtuosity and enjoy the pleasures of the body.”
“I don’t—” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “I don’t know what to do.” My voice is barely a whisper.
