APRIL
Dean was a regular at Iggy’s, the ice cream shop I work at, which happens to be wedged between a strip joint and a truck stop. The strippers would come over, jeans pulled up over their sequined costumes, to buy chili cheese dogs and hot fudge sundaes, and the gas station guys would come over for extra-large root beer floats, and to flirt with the strippers.
Dean was one of those gas station guys. He was about eighteen and cute, with thick, dark hair that somehow managed to always look good, and the most unbelievable eyelashes I’d ever seen. The other Iggy’s servers had determined that Dean was mine before I did and drifted away from the window whenever he came up, smelling faintly of diesel, his shirt half–tucked in. He’d smile as he picked up his milk shake, his hands rough and dirty with oil. He’d always order an extra puff of whipped cream and double rainbow sprinkles. The goofiness of that made my heart squeeze.
Two weeks of barbecue sandwiches and large vanilla milk shakes later, Dean asked me out. We went to a taco stand and ate burritos at a splintery picnic table. He told me about his family and how they liked to dress up as pioneers on the weekend and demonstrate frontier skills like whittling and hatchet throwing.
“I’d be happy to whittle you something,” he said. “Do you like horses? I do a good horse.”
“I love horses.” I wasn’t even sure what whittling was, but I didn’t tell him that. I really wanted that horse.
“I’ll do you a horse, then.” He slid his legs out of the picnic table and went to the window, returning with another plate of tacos.
Two hours later, we were parked in the soccer field making out. We kissed until my lips were raw. He squeezed my breasts, lifting my bra from the bottom up, not bothering to try to undo the clasp.
“I have condoms,” I whispered. Right after New Year’s, I’d gotten it into my mind that I wanted to lose my virginity for no reason other than I wanted to feel more like an adult. I’d wanted to go on the pill, but I had to get a parent’s permission to get it. So I ordered condoms from Amazon and hid them in an Altoids tin in my purse for whenever the chance might come along.
He pulled back and studied me for a moment. “Why would you carry condoms?”
“I thought, maybe, I should be ready.” I realized how casual that sounded, like I’d be okay to have sex with any rando that happened to look my way. “I mean, in case you wanted to…” My voice trailed off. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the condoms. Maybe that was too much?
He leaned back in his seat and draped one arm over his steering wheel. “I never heard of a girl doing that. That’s usually a dude thing, carrying condoms. A guy I know from work has a lucky condom.” He grinned. “I think it’s the same one he’s had since middle school.”
“Oh,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say.
“Can I see them?” He held out his hand.
I hesitated. “Why?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Come on.”
I took a condom out of the Altoids tin and gave it to him. He took it, looked it over for a second, and then he handed it back to me.
“Did I buy the right ones?” I asked. “I mean, the right size or whatever?”
He didn’t reply, but he did unzip his jeans. I reached for his T-shirt to take it off, because I thought you’re supposed to be naked when you had sex. But he had other ideas. He pushed my hands away and left his shirt on.
I kicked my flip-flops off and wiggled out of my shorts and underwear, the condom clutched in my hand. The pleather seat burned hot against my bare skin. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to put the condom on him or if he would do it. But before I could ask, he grabbed it out of my hand. He pulled at the top with his fingers, but it didn’t open. “Shit,” he mumbled, then ripped the packet open with his teeth. I looked away while he put it on, and then he knelt between my legs.
I stared up at the roof; the material was torn at the corners and hung loose like polyester cobwebs. His truck smelled like grease and fried foods, the floor littered with bunched-up Iggy’s bags. His NRA belt buckle lay across my underwear and shorts.
He buried his face in my neck. It felt awkward and smothering, like I was zipped all the way up in a sleeping bag.
I felt it bounce against my inner thigh but it didn’t go in. I tilted my hips, hoping to get him pointed in the right direction, but that didn’t seem to work, either. In the middle of all this, he looked up. “You’re so soft,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
He fumbled around a little more, and then I felt a pinch between my legs and Dean moved a little bit. “Yes!” he said. And then he groaned. And then it was over.
I don’t know if he got all the way in, so I wasn’t sure if I had lost my virginity or not.
Dean kind of just lay there on top of me, breathing heavily. To be honest, I really had no idea why he’d be so out of breath. Finally, he got up. He yanked off the condom and threw it out the window.
“Was that okay?” I asked. “We can try again.” I started to pull my bra back down but I paused. “I mean, it was over kind of fast, so maybe—”
“Actually, I really need to get home.” He started the truck.
I sat up and put my clothes back on, sliding one leg at a time into my underwear and then into my shorts.
He drove me back to Iggy’s and pulled up to my car. The truck idled. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel—drumming out the beat to a song we heard at the taco stand.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later?” I asked.
“Sure.” He leaned over me and pulled the door handle. The door popped open, letting in a rush of hot air. I slid out and shut the door. I stood next to my car, watching as Dean’s taillights faded into the night.