Metamorphosis Page 2

  “I’m never dropping the nickname so get that thought out of your pretty little head,” she smirked. “And I take great offense that kissing me ‘hardly counts for anything.’ Do you know how many people would love to have my tongue in their mouth?” I just rolled my eyes in response.

  As we sat on the kitchen counter we opted to forgo the glasses and passed the bottle of wine back and forth between us drinking straight from the source, and I continued to ramble on about my fears and worries when it came to entering the world of dating.

  “I don’t even know what kind of guy is my type. I don’t know who is out of my league and who isn’t. I don’t know if I should let a guy approach me or if I should approach him… there are just all these questions… I feel so silly.”

  “Okay, let’s get one thing straight ~ NO guy is out of your league!” she said sternly looking directly into my eyes. “I never want to hear you say something like that again. You seriously have no idea what a fucking amazing catch you are for any guy. I swear, your parents really did a number on your self-esteem. Guys look at you all the time, you just never notice because you are too afraid your parents will catch you making eye contact with one and then you’ll, I don’t know, end up pregnant or something.” She continued, “As for what your type is, surely you have some idea what you are looking for. I mean we have only read hundreds, if not thousands, of books that pretty much cover every category of guy that exists. Think about all of our favorite book boyfriends…”

  “That’s just the thing, I love so many of our book boyfriends, ALL of them actually,” I giggled as the wine was definitely starting to have some effect on me. “Sometimes I think I’d like the All-American, college frat boy image, maybe even one with a bit of a wild side. But then I think about our beloved tattooed bad boy rockers and I think about tracing their tattoos with my tongue… yummy indeed.”

  “You really do have a kinky freak living inside there, don’t you?” Evie joked. “I’m kind of afraid of what’s going to happen once you get an actual taste of the passion that you read about so often. If those books get your panties all wet, what’s going to happen when an actual hottie get his hands on you?”

  “I’m not sure… I may spontaneously combust or my panties may just disintegrate right off my body,” I laughed. “But don’t act like I’m the only one that fantasizes about our book boyfriends. I clearly remember just last week a certain someone texting me in the wee hours of the morning because she had just had a wet dream about… who was it that time… I can’t remember someone that you called ‘Daddy’ in bed or some shit.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” She joked. “We really are little book whores, aren’t we? Not just in the number of books that we read, but in how many of the guys we are in love with, the things that we dream about doing with them…”

  “Yeah, how sad is that? If it wasn’t for that vibrator you bought me last year, I would probably have carpal tunnel by this point,” I admitted. I must be the most sexually frustrated virgin on the planet because my virtue was still intact only because my parents didn’t let me out of their sight long enough to even meet anyone, much less like someone enough to want to have sex with them. I wasn’t interested in just handing it out on a silver platter in a bathroom stall at one of my recitals or better yet, at church camp. I was pretty sure the man upstairs wouldn’t approve of the fact that I was using him as an excuse to escape my parents and whore myself out. I felt bad enough that it was the only place I had ever kissed a guy. I had felt so guilty then that I had almost expected to be struck by lightning or something, but I made it through the rest of the week unscathed.

  “You’re telling me! It’s been over three months since I stopped seeing Garrett. All the extra free time has allowed me to read myself into sexual frustration as well,” she complained. “We really need to get out and have some fun. I can’t wait to corrupt you… and it all begins tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to need your help in corrupting, I’ve been looking forward to this too much. I may need help in controlling my hormones once they’re released from their cage.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Now back to these different categories of book boyfriends. We need to make sure we consider all potential candidates. We forgot to mention the hot professors looking for reasons to tutor us in private, or the famous musicians that are going to mysteriously pop into our lives and beg us to go on tour with them because we are their muse. Ooh, better yet, maybe we can snag us an ultimate,” I said in my faux serious voice.

  “An ultimate?” Evie interrupted.

  “Yeah, the ultimates… you know, the devastatingly handsome, possessive billionaire moguls that can’t live without us and are dying to shower us with wealth and satisfy our deep, dark sexual desires,” I explained.

  “Okay, I lied. Even though I said there’s no guy out of your league, I’m not sure we are quite ready for ‘the ultimates.’ Jesus Christ, Scarlett, you go from telling me you are scared to talk to a college boy to telling me you want to find an older man that’s into bondage and whips. I think we may need to work our way there so you feel a little more comfortable with yourself and your body before we head down that road. Plus, I’m not sure if there’s a local Billionaire BDSM club that we can just waltz in and make our selection,” she joked.

  I started laughing uncontrollably at her last comment as I envisioned the two of us walking up to an office building trying to find our version of an ultimate. She was right, I needed to take baby steps before I found myself blindfolded and restrained to a cross on a wall trying to remember my safe word, while anticipating the crack of a whip across my skin.

  “But Ana was a virgin…” I tried to argue, but couldn’t even get the thought out without cracking up all over again. We both laughed until tears streamed down our faces. Finally after several minutes, we regained our composure and Evie said she had a plan.

  “This is what we are going to do. Tomorrow we are going to recreate your image with a new hairstyle, a little bit of makeup, and new clothes ~ going to get you all sexified. Then tomorrow night we are going to go with my cousin to that party by her school. But before we go, we are going to pick one of the categories of our book boyfriends and our goal for the evening is to find our version of that BB. Each subsequent night we go out together, we will choose a different category until we find exactly what your type is. Shit, it might even help me because I’m quickly finding out what I thought my type was, is actually quite similar to the description of a douchebag,” she explained.

  “Okay, I like the sound of this. But once we find our version of the BB, then what do we do?”

  “What do you mean ‘then what do we do?’ You talk to him, kiss him, screw him… whatever you want to do with him. We can even make it a little game. Whoever gets farther with their BB that night is the winner and buys the other breakfast the next morning. We can whore our way through our book boyfriends until we determine what each of our ‘type’ is.”

  “That’s no fair! You are obviously going to win all the time; I’m at such a disadvantage! I don’t just want to give away my virginity to the first guy that comes along to win some game,” I argued.

  “Oh Sam,” Evie replied, “I’m not going to just sleep with guys that I don’t want to sleep with just so I don’t have to buy breakfast the next morning or to beat you at some game. The true point of the game is to find a guy that’s a keeper, one you seriously want to date, the side game will just make it more fun until we do!”

  I thought about what she said and knew she was right. Evie had devised a perfect way for me to meet different kinds of guys and the game would help me to break out of my shell, lose some of my insecurities, and do things that I would most likely be too timid to try. I’m not sure if it was the empty bottle of wine that sat in the kitchen trash, the possibility of finding the happily ever after I had read about time and again in my countless books, or the fact I definitely did not want to die a virgin, but I found myself saying, “Game on. May the best
book whore win.”

  Chapter 2

  The following morning came way too soon, and before I had even opened my eyes, I felt the throbbing in my head. Before the previous night, my alcohol consumption had been limited to a glass of wine on two separate occasions; both times I had stayed the night at Evie’s house. My parents would have never allowed me to drink, not for any reason. When I finally managed to roll out of bed to turn off the screaming alarm clock, I headed straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some aspirin from my purse. I heard the shower running in Evie’s room so I knew that she was up and getting ready and that I needed to get moving. Our spa appointments began at 8:00AM and it was already 7:15.

  After showering and throwing on some of Evie’s clothes she loaned me, since I literally left my parent’s house with the clothes on my back, I found her waiting for me in the living room. Luckily the medicine had kicked in and I was feeling a little more human.

  “You ready for your makeover? To find out how beautiful you truly are when you aren’t hiding behind all of that hair and those frumpy ass clothes?” she asked with a huge grin on her face. I knew she was just as excited about this as me, maybe even more so.

  “Absolutely. Let the fun begin.” I responded, returning the smile.

  Even though I had grown up in San Antonio, which was far from a small rural town, it was nothing compared to the large metropolis of Houston. My only visit there had been when I had come with my parents for a day tour of the Rice campus. I was so glad that Evie would be the one driving us around. She had visited family here often and even though she didn’t know exactly where everything was, her memory paired with a trusty navigation system was sure to not get us too lost. So we jumped in her car and headed out.

  Upon arrival at the spa, we were quickly checked in for our “A Whole New Me” package, which I thought was an especially fitting name for my current situation, and were whisked away to strip and change into plush white bath robes. I had never been to a day spa before, so I had asked Evie all kinds of questions on the way over about what to expect. I was most nervous about the waxing and the massage. The waxing scared me for a couple of reasons ~ first, I had read about how painful it was and I knew that my threshold for pain was at like a -2 on a scale of 1 to 10; and second, I couldn’t believe that I was going to allow a complete stranger to not only look at, but touch my private area. Evie tried to calm my nerves by telling me that the aesthetician sees women’s pussies and asses all day long, much like a gynecologist. For her, it would be like looking at any other body part-an arm or a leg. This didn’t make me feel much better, but I really didn’t have a logical argument. The massage scared me for similar reasons. I knew it wouldn’t be painful, but I wasn’t quite sure I was comfortable with a stranger rubbing their hands all over my body. I know this seems a little prudish but let’s face it, I was a prude whether it was my choice to be or not. Evie finally told me to shut up, everything would be fine. I needed to just enjoy the day, so I did exactly that.

  The first service I was scheduled for was the waxing. I thought I might as well get the toughest part over first, right? I soon found out that tough wasn’t quite the right word to describe exactly what happened to me on that table. Awful, dreadful, agonizing, excruciating, unbearable… was the terminology that needed to be used when people described having their hair ripped out by the root on the most sensitive parts of one’s body. I truly felt bad for the technician that was trying her hardest to keep me quiet and still. I was pretty sure that the pain associated with waxing had to be up there close to childbirth with no drugs. At one point, I’m pretty sure everyone in the building heard my pleas for her to stop, but she ignored my requests and just kept on manhandling my vagina and ass. What seemed like hours later, she announced she was finished and that I should come back every two to four weeks for maintenance. Did she not remember that only moments earlier I was frantically trying to escape her grasp and screaming obscenities that would make a sailor blush? Words that I was pretty sure had never passed through my lips before. I just replied with an “okay,” put my robe back on, and allowed her to me lead me down the hall to another room where an elderly woman was waiting for me.

  “Hi Scarlett, I’m Joan and I’m going to be your massage therapist today,” she said as I sheepishly entered the room.

  “Hi Joan, please tell me you aren’t going to hurt me,” I replied.

  Her hearty laugh filled the room and helped relax me a bit. I also noticed this room was much different than the first one I had been in. Instead of bright, cold, and sterile, Joan’s room was dimly lit with instrumental music lightly playing in the background and an aroma of lavender and eucalyptus teased my nostrils. It was serene and tranquil, and I found it very soothing.

  “No sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you. I hope to do just the opposite of that. Let’s get you out of that robe and help you forget the torture that Tina just put you through,” she chuckled.

  “Tina? That’s her name? I was convinced her name was Olga and her second job was a Dom at the local BDSM club.”

  “I’ll be sure to let her know that she has options in case her job here ever falls through,” Joan snickered. “Now hop up on the table on your belly, face in that donut looking pillow, and arms by your side.”

  The hour long massage with Joan was pure bliss. I’m pretty sure at one point I had fallen asleep and started drooling on myself. After explaining to Joan that it was my first time, she did an excellent job of making me feel at ease and relaxed. I was amazed at the way her hands made my body feel ~ it was incredible, like nothing I’d ever experienced before, not sexual in any way but oh so satisfying. Now that was something I would willingly come back for every two to four weeks. Before I knew it, she was patting my arm, telling me the hour was up, and I was due for my manicure and pedicure. I reluctantly got up off the table, put my robe back on, and followed her to my next appointment still in a sated haze.

  The manicure and pedicure were very much what I had imagined they would be, not as soothing as the massage but relaxing nonetheless. I chose a light pink color with a hint of glitter for both my hands and feet; I had never had color on my nails before so I was a little apprehensive to go with blood red or something wild like blue or green. From the nail room, I ventured to the hair and makeup area of the salon and knew this is where the true makeover would occur. I had always worn my medium brown hair the exact same way since I was a kid - long, straight, all one length, and normally in a bun. I was worried sick about what they were going to do with my hair, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a drastic change quite yet. As I sat in the chair and waited for my stylist, I was startled when a young Asian man walked up behind me.

  “Hi there, Scarlett. How are you enjoying your day so far?” he asked.

  “Well it started off a little rough, but it’s been wonderful ever since. Thank you for asking,” I replied.

  “Good. I’m Nathan and I’m going to be doing your hair today.”

  What? A male hair stylist? I mean I knew there were male hair stylists, I just didn’t think I’d have one working on me. It took me a minute to process the information and I guess I did little to hide the shock on my face.

  “Its okay, hun, I’m not going to bite you. Hell, I won’t even hit on ya… girls really aren’t my thing,” he sniggered.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve never had anyone except my mom cut my hair before so this is all really new for me,” I answered.

  “You’ve never been to a professional hair stylist before? Are you serious? How old are you?” he asked.

  “I’m eighteen, and no, everything I’m having done to me today is a first. My parents were a little strict when I was growing up.”

  “OMG, you have no idea what you’ve been missing sweet girl. What kind of crazy parents do you have anyways?”

  “Well crazy would be an understatement, but none of that matters any more. As of yesterday, I am free, I moved out… so here I am. You think you can assist me with my m
ini-makeover? I’m going to my very first party tonight, then starting college on Tuesday and I need more than a little help,” I said.

  “Of course I can. Just you wait until you see what Uncle Nathan can do for you… just you wait,” he said with a comforting smile on his face. “Now, lets see what we have to work with. Take that bun out while I grab some things over here.”

  He walked across the room to another station and grabbed a couple of bottles and combs only to come back behind me and stare at me in the mirror with his mouth wide open. I had taken my hair down and let it fall down the back of the chair and I guess he wasn’t prepared for how much hair he was going to be working with. Without saying another word, he walked away again and came back with two other women.

  The three of them inspected me like I was an animal on exhibit at the zoo, occasionally picking up sections of my hair and then dropping it so it draped over the back of the chair.

  “Ummm… is there a problem?” I asked, feeling more than a little uneasy at their gawking.

  “No, I just had to show them how beautiful your hair is. It’s so long and healthy-it’s unbelievable really,” Nathan responded with his warm smile and cocked his head to the side. “Did you have any ideas about what you would like to do with it? Color? Cut? Style?”

  “Not really, I was hoping that I could just leave it in your hands, since you are the professional. I just need to keep it long enough to pull it back in a ponytail for days I don’t feel like fixing it or for when I dance.”

  Nathan simply nodded and then the three of them began discussing colors and other things that had numbers and letters that sounded like gibberish to me. Hoping to ease some of my anxiety, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said a little prayer. I then let Nathan do his thing.