Confessions of a Virgin Sex Columnist! by Kay Marie

Author:Kay Marie [Marie, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B00UG6W8YO
Published: 2015-05-17T23:00:00+00:00

I've never been to the hospital. Well, I guess except when I was born. But that doesn't really count, right? I've never had any broken bones or emergencies or anything. Or, at least I hadn’t. Because, well, crap—there goes my perfect record.

When I say falling, I mean literally, falling.

But my mind is so caught up with the Jell-O shots and that other more figurative falling, that the ground catches me before I catch myself. And by catches me, I mean rams into me like a freight train at full speed.

As soon as I can breathe again, I scream, and I mean scream, at the top of my lungs, in one long extended sound, a word I haven't said in years. Because it's vulgar, and I don't like it, and because too many yearly viewings of A Christmas Story have drilled the lesson home after so long. But I can't help it, it just pops out—a foghorn cutting through the party, reverberating around the walls of the yacht, echoing in my ears again and again.

"Fuck!"

And screw it, I mean it.

But then I stop.

Pause.

My mind catches up to the pain, and I realize I just fell in front of the entire party. And not like a graceful tumble, but a full-on faceplant, a total wipeout. And I'm still lying on the ground in a heap of confused limbs. My butt is definitely straight up in the air.

Crap.

Nobody saw that, right?

I close my eyes, and all I hear is silence. No music. No conversation. Heck, no laughter even. There's only crickets and the slap of the wind against the side of the boat. Well, the crickets might be in my head, but they may as well be real. Slowly, I turn my head to the side, wincing as my forehead scratches against the wooden floor of the boat.

Eyes.

A hundred eyes all on me. At this point there aren’t even bodies connected to them, they're just enormous bulbous pupils staring at me, judging me, illuminated with contained laughter and a shade of pity.

I scramble to sit up.

"Ow. Ow. Ow," I murmur over and over, clutching my wrist to my chest, smiling and cringing at the same time, trying to play it cool. My entire body screams at me to stay still, but the embarrassment burning my chest is stronger, and it's all I can do not to run from the room. The crowd divides, letting me pass easily, and somewhere in the middle, I finally find familiar faces.

"Are you okay?" Bridget whispers, stepping next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"Mentally? No… Physically? Yeah, still no." I sigh.

Patrick appears out of nowhere, putting a hand on my arm. "Skylar, are you hurt? That was, uh, quite the fall."

We finally make it to one of the smaller living areas on the yacht, a place that is gloriously empty. I collapse on the couch, still cradling my limp wrist. "My hand is on fire."

Patrick looks down, wincing. "Do you think you broke it? It's starting to swell.

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