It's Not What They Say, It's What They Whisper

We sit in the parking lot of Forks High, waiting for the bell to ring, getting ready to face the teeming masses. She's wearing a skirt and I happen to know that her panties today are pink – my favorites. In the last six months, I've become acquainted with Violet's underwear. I guess you could say that we've become intimate. The panties and I.

Violet smiles, full of fake courage and vanilla latte. "Fuck yeah," she says, and I know she's telling me that she's nervous.

As predicted, the rumor mill went wild when they discovered we were dating. I was glad I'd taken the time to explain things to Chief Brooks, since he'd received a number of phone calls from "concerned" parents about the kind of company his daughter was keeping. As it stood, the Chief became one of my biggest defenders, much to the bafflement of the Millers, the Yorkies, and the Grangers. Whatever. As long as things were good between me and Candymouth, I didn't honestly give a fuck.

My mom wasn't Violet's biggest fan at first. It probably had something to do with the crash I had about a month into dating her. No one was paying attention to how much I ate, or how often, and I'd gotten sloppy about monitoring my levels. Violet was fucking cool though. She did exactly what we'd talked about, in case of an emergency, and even the doc said she couldn't have done anything better.

Still, after that, she started wearing this clunky dork watch with all these numbers and shit on it. It beeped every few hours to remind me to check my sugars, or to eat, or to shoot up. She never let me forget after that, and I haven't had a crash since.
Eventually, my mom came around.

And I did everything in my power to take care of Violet. When she got nervous, I was there to hold her hand, to remind her how amazing she is. When she needed help with history, I pulled out my books and related them to those damned "classics" she was always reading. When her truck broke down, I got her to and from school and helped out her friend Kevin with finding the parts to fix it.

Of course, I took care of Candymouth in other ways as well. I kissed her. A lot. And kissing led to touching and touching led to other things and sometimes it felt like getting to where we were going was some sort of mythical journey that involved maps for dark lands, and golden rings that ruled the world.

I'd managed to lose my virginity to a girl I wasn't even going out with in my sophomore year. We were at a party, both of us drunk, and we ended up kissing, then going upstairs, where one thing led to another. I was fifteen and she was seventeen. When it was over, she said "now you'll remember me forever." I thought that was kind of creepy and fucked up, but I was relieved to be done with it, just the same.

I didn't want that for Candymouth and me. I wanted her to be sure, and so we went slow. She was happy to let my put my hands up her shirt, but it took almost a month before she'd let me take her shirt off. The bra stayed on for another two weeks. And my dick was practically tattooed with the imprint of my zipper because we stayed fully clothed from the waist down for nine whole weeks.

Very rarely, she would let me put my hand up her skirt and feel her over her panties. She'd shiver and arch and sometimes I thought she was close, but I couldn't make it happen with the cotton and lace in the way.

"Baby, I promise it won't hurt if I touch you." I hated the pleading in my voice, but I had the worst case of blue balls in three states. Neither of us was getting off with dry humping.

"I know that," she'd say, her hot breath panting against my neck, my mouth, my chest. "I'm just…."

Just. Just nervous. Just scared. Just not ready.

So I'd swallow down my sigh and kiss her more, and we'd spend hours that way, both of us on the edge, neither of us falling over. I hoped that when school was out and we had oceans of unsupervised time together that things would progress. While my dick and my hand were really good friends, I was kind of hoping that they'd start seeing other people. I was surprised then, when a week before the last day of school Violet started turning the clock all the way back.
I lifted the hem of her t-shirt and she brushed my hands away.

I slid one hand up under it and she pulled it out, placing it chastely on the bed beside her.

Now, I could handle the very slow going so far. Violet was far less experienced than I was, and since I had no plans of giving her up, I knew that I could take my time. But this…didn't make any sense.

"What's going on, baby?" I asked.

She lowered her eyes and looked away.

I sighed. She frowned.

I laid down on the bed, and pulled her against me, my face in her hair. "I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong, Violet."

"There's nothing to fucking fix. I'm not a car."

Great. Swearing. Now I knew something was very wrong. She still only swore when she was nervous.

I turned to my side and spooned her into me, my arm against her chest, her head under my chin. We were still for so long that I almost fell asleep before she whispered, so low I almost didn't hear it: "I'm sorry."

"Just talk to me."

"It's fucking embarrassing. You…you won't believe me."

I flipped her over and made her look at me. Her big brown eyes were dark and full of fear. Definitely not how I wanted my sweet girl looking at me.

I kissed the corner of her mouth, brushed her cheek with my eyelashes. "I love you, Violet. You can tell me anything." Our confessions of love had come weeks ago, but we saved the words, spending them only when the feeling was so piercing that they couldn't be contained.

"I'm…" She sighed. I waited.

"I'm sort of not a virgin," she said.

Candymouth was fucking not a virgin? Not. A virgin. What the fuck?

Now, at this point it had been nine long weeks of kissing and groping and whacking off multiple times a day, trying to be patient, because I thought that this girl was a virgin. And I still would have been patient if she wasn't. But she knew that I thought she was, so, it kind of felt like a lie. Like she'd been lying to me.

All the old feelings started to rise up in me, feelings of betrayal, not knowing who to trust. I thought I could trust her. I thought we were…kindred.

I pushed away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, my back to her.

"You're mad," Violet said.

I didn't want to say anything, I just wanted her to go away. How the fuck did I let this happen? Why did I let myself trust her?

"You lied to me." It was the only thing I could think.

"No!"

I felt her shift on the bed and come up behind me. I flinched from the touch that I knew was coming. I felt her shift away again.

She sighed and muttered something that sounded like 'fucking bicycle.' Wait, what?

"What?" I asked, turning to look at her.

She was sitting on her heels, head down, studying her hands.

"When I was little I had an accident on my bike and I'm not- I'm not technically a virgin." She didn't meet my gaze.
You have got to be fucking kidding me. Was that shit even possible? And wait – so she's saying she still hasn't been with anyone else? I knew that I loved her regardless, but I have to admit – the caveman in me loved that I would be her first.

I picked up her hands with mine. "Lucky bicycle," I whispered, a half smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Oh, ew! Damien, that's disgusting. I was six!"

I tickled under her arms and we fell back against the bed. "Still," I grinned. "That bicycle's seen more action than I have. Lucky bike."

Candymouth giggled, then laughed, tucking her head into my neck.
"You're not mad?" she asked.

"Mad that I don't have to make you bleed your first time? Not in the least, baby."

After that, as much as I loved the panties, I must confess that I was glad to see them spending less time on her body.