Page 1

Un icorn

Unicorn

“The Lifestyle,� she called it, and I panicked. It was only supposed to be a distraction, an escape. Scary to think that it might have become my life.

9 781479 381883

Isabe l la M artin

ISBN 978-1479381883

Isabella Martin


%&%)R2/)$.I" +$,"7&$7'&"$*"/:&"6,&CR&./"2.%"/:&"6,$CCE


Unicorn by Isabella Martin


Prologue

Copyright © 2013 Isabella Martin All rights reserved. ISBN: 1479381888 ISBN-13: 9781479381883 Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917936 CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC

What’s the proper protocol for the morning after a sex club orgy? I was alone in the bedroom, but there were voices outside my door. I wondered how long I could put off going out there. It was eight thirty, which meant I had been asleep for three hours at most. I wasn’t certain I had slept at all, though. I was cold, and I’d been cold since I’d gone to bed, but there had been just the one white sheet. No blankets anywhere. I wasn’t hungover—surprising since I’d drunk an entire bottle of wine. It had been Riesling, too. All that sugar usually gave me the worst hangover. But nothing this time. Maybe I worked it all out of my system before I went to sleep. I had to pee. I hoped I didn’t have a urinary tract infection. Considering the fact that I’d been at a sex club, I hadn’t fucked all that many people. Less than at parties with Gangbang Joe, at least. Which reminded me—he wanted me to tell him what it was like at the sex club. I smiled. Funny that Gangbang Joe had never been to a sex club. I needed to remember as many details as possible so I could describe it. But I felt like everything was slipping away. The sunlight wasn’t doing anything to help. It was hard to hold onto memories of Rhonda inviting me to play with her and Hilton in their room when there were birds singing outside. iii


Prologue

Copyright © 2013 Isabella Martin All rights reserved. ISBN: 1479381888 ISBN-13: 9781479381883 Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917936 CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC

What’s the proper protocol for the morning after a sex club orgy? I was alone in the bedroom, but there were voices outside my door. I wondered how long I could put off going out there. It was eight thirty, which meant I had been asleep for three hours at most. I wasn’t certain I had slept at all, though. I was cold, and I’d been cold since I’d gone to bed, but there had been just the one white sheet. No blankets anywhere. I wasn’t hungover—surprising since I’d drunk an entire bottle of wine. It had been Riesling, too. All that sugar usually gave me the worst hangover. But nothing this time. Maybe I worked it all out of my system before I went to sleep. I had to pee. I hoped I didn’t have a urinary tract infection. Considering the fact that I’d been at a sex club, I hadn’t fucked all that many people. Less than at parties with Gangbang Joe, at least. Which reminded me—he wanted me to tell him what it was like at the sex club. I smiled. Funny that Gangbang Joe had never been to a sex club. I needed to remember as many details as possible so I could describe it. But I felt like everything was slipping away. The sunlight wasn’t doing anything to help. It was hard to hold onto memories of Rhonda inviting me to play with her and Hilton in their room when there were birds singing outside. iii


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

As the scenes and sensations from the night before drifted out my grasp, the urge to pee remained. I was worried that it would burn. Did I pee after I fucked Hilton? I couldn’t remember. It would be bad if I didn’t. No one ever told me how important it was to pee right after sex. I didn’t find that out until I was in my twenties. When I learned how important it was, I was mad that no one had taught me sooner. That should have been part of health class. I could’ve prevented a lot of UTIs. And speaking of health class…Hilton had worn a condom, but it’s not like I used a dental dam when I was fooling around with the girls. Or vice versa. I was suddenly very aware of my throat. I kept swallowing, testing for soreness or scratchiness. It did feel scratchy, but there were other explanations for that. I had been up late, talking loudly in a club. People had been smoking. I had spent the night in a cold dry room. As a precaution, I had used someone’s Listerine before I went to bed. Certainly that would help prevent gonorrhea. Or chlamydia. Could I even get those in my throat? And why had it taken me so long to consider any problems other than a UTI in my nether regions? Was I itchy? No. Was there burning? No. At the very least I should expect a yeast infection, but I didn’t feel even a hint of one. I lay back down and slid my hand down my underwear, poking around for anything that felt unusual. I felt a little drier than normal, but I didn’t feel any soreness or sensitivity. Hard to imagine I’d survived the night intact. I continued to put off leaving the safety of the room. My Blackberry was on the nightstand next to the bed. I checked it for messages, but I wasn’t getting a signal. Even so, I was disappointed that I had no message from Tom. I wondered if I should tell him about this. The feelings of inadequacy that often accompanied thinking about him prompted me to think about something else. I stood up, not expecting my thighs to feel rubbery and shaky. There had only been a couple of times before that I’d had such intense sex that my legs felt like that. It felt like I’d run fifteen miles. I wondered if I had burned an equivalent number of calories. My suitcase was in the corner of the room, open. The silky aqua dress I had worn to the club was on top of my other clothes. It looked garish in the light of day. My stiletto ankle boots were in the corner.

I wanted to go home. I dug through the suitcase without touching the dress, finding jeans and a gray sweatshirt. As I stepped into my jeans, I wondered if everyone would be naked out there. I honestly didn’t know, but it would probably be more embarrassing to go out naked if everyone else was dressed than to go out dressed when everyone else was naked. It’s not like they were nudists. They were swingers. I finished getting dressed and went out into the living room.

iv

v


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

As the scenes and sensations from the night before drifted out my grasp, the urge to pee remained. I was worried that it would burn. Did I pee after I fucked Hilton? I couldn’t remember. It would be bad if I didn’t. No one ever told me how important it was to pee right after sex. I didn’t find that out until I was in my twenties. When I learned how important it was, I was mad that no one had taught me sooner. That should have been part of health class. I could’ve prevented a lot of UTIs. And speaking of health class…Hilton had worn a condom, but it’s not like I used a dental dam when I was fooling around with the girls. Or vice versa. I was suddenly very aware of my throat. I kept swallowing, testing for soreness or scratchiness. It did feel scratchy, but there were other explanations for that. I had been up late, talking loudly in a club. People had been smoking. I had spent the night in a cold dry room. As a precaution, I had used someone’s Listerine before I went to bed. Certainly that would help prevent gonorrhea. Or chlamydia. Could I even get those in my throat? And why had it taken me so long to consider any problems other than a UTI in my nether regions? Was I itchy? No. Was there burning? No. At the very least I should expect a yeast infection, but I didn’t feel even a hint of one. I lay back down and slid my hand down my underwear, poking around for anything that felt unusual. I felt a little drier than normal, but I didn’t feel any soreness or sensitivity. Hard to imagine I’d survived the night intact. I continued to put off leaving the safety of the room. My Blackberry was on the nightstand next to the bed. I checked it for messages, but I wasn’t getting a signal. Even so, I was disappointed that I had no message from Tom. I wondered if I should tell him about this. The feelings of inadequacy that often accompanied thinking about him prompted me to think about something else. I stood up, not expecting my thighs to feel rubbery and shaky. There had only been a couple of times before that I’d had such intense sex that my legs felt like that. It felt like I’d run fifteen miles. I wondered if I had burned an equivalent number of calories. My suitcase was in the corner of the room, open. The silky aqua dress I had worn to the club was on top of my other clothes. It looked garish in the light of day. My stiletto ankle boots were in the corner.

I wanted to go home. I dug through the suitcase without touching the dress, finding jeans and a gray sweatshirt. As I stepped into my jeans, I wondered if everyone would be naked out there. I honestly didn’t know, but it would probably be more embarrassing to go out naked if everyone else was dressed than to go out dressed when everyone else was naked. It’s not like they were nudists. They were swingers. I finished getting dressed and went out into the living room.

iv

v


%&%)R2/)$.I" +$,"7&$7'&"$*"/:&"6,&CR&./"2.%"/:&"6,$CCE


1 When I was five my father died and my mother had a nervous breakdown. I’ve since learned that she was barely keeping it together as it was, but that my father had been a calming influence. As much as someone could be. It wasn’t her fault that she was crazy, but she wasn’t a terribly stable mother for me and my brother Pete. Before my father died, we lived in Somerville, Massachusetts. A couple of years after he died she met my stepfather, got pregnant, and moved us all to Maine. She never told my father’s side of the family that we were leaving, let alone where. They found us eventually, and would come visit once in a while, but for the most part we were pretty isolated. I was going into the fourth grade when we moved. I made friends with a group of girls pretty quickly, but nine-year-old girls are clique-y, and I was never a real part of the group. I ended up hanging out with boys for the most part. And reading. I was a pretty good kid. I never got into trouble, did well in school, participated in extracurricular activities, and generally dedicated my time to getting into a good college. I didn’t mind. I didn’t know any other way to live. As I grew up I knew there were parties that I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t know how to 1


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

talk to the people who were going to them. And even if I had wanted to go, I wouldn’t have been able to. I wasn’t allowed to go to other people’s houses; my mother didn’t trust that their parents would be home, and even if they were, she didn’t trust them. She was overprotective – strangely so. I still don’t know what she thought she was protecting us from. Even though Pete was two years younger than me, he was probably my closest friend until my junior year in high school. I did have a couple of boyfriends. Sophomore year it was Todd, a perfectly sweet boyfriend. I had known Todd since fourth grade. I remember the first time he put his hand up my shirt. I held my breath the whole time. We never went further than that, though, and I broke up with him after he got a low SAT score. The year after that there was a not-so-sweet boyfriend— Aaron. Aaron had moved to Maine at the beginning of our junior year and was pressuring me to sleep with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but he kept talking about his ex-girlfriend back in Minnesota and how much he missed her. If I wanted him to like me I was going to have to step it up. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to have sex, I was just scared I’d do something wrong. The bigger problem was that I didn’t know how to get time alone with him. My mother said he could come over, but she was always there, and if we were in another room she’d look in on us every two seconds to see if we wanted popcorn or to tell us she was making cookies. Aaron lost patience after coming over only a couple of times, and one night he said we should go hang out down at the lake. I had the impression that this was an ultimatum. Before him, I had never been a rebellious or difficult child or done anything I wasn’t supposed to, but I liked Aaron, and I didn’t want him to break up with me, so I lied to my mother. I told her that Aaron and I were going to see a movie when in fact I had promised him that I’d go to the lake with him instead. There was a boat landing not too far from my house—maybe half a mile—and no one would be there at night. Aaron picked me up in his father’s blue Buick and drove down the narrow

gravel road to the edge of the lake. It was just after Halloween, and it was one of those cold clear fall nights, the kind where the stars seem to twinkle. He left the car running and the radio low—I think it was En Vogue. We didn’t make out for too long before he took my wrist and nudged my hand to unzip his jeans. My heart was pounding. It was the first time I had ever touched a penis, and I was surprised by how smooth it was. He showed me how to jerk him off. I watched his face while I did it. His eyes were closed, his neck exposed as he leaned his head back. I didn’t know what to expect. He started to tense up, his breathing got shallower, and he suddenly reached down and wrapped his hand around mine, jerking himself off harder and faster. I jumped when I felt warm liquid shoot onto my hand. He didn’t try to get me off, but even if he had, I would have been too shy to enjoy it. We stayed out for a credible amount of time before he brought me home. My mother was still up. She asked how the movie was, and I said it was good. She asked if we really had gone to the movie. I said we had. She asked again. I was terrified that if I lied, she’d find out the truth somehow, so I went ahead and told her. She asked where we went, and I told her we just went down to the lake. She didn’t ask me anything else, not even anything about what we’d actually done at the lake. She just called me a whore and ran upstairs to her room. I heard her wake my stepfather up. “Do you know what your daughter the whore did tonight?” I was curious what his reaction would be. He didn’t really like me. I don’t think he really disliked me, either. It was more of a general apathy, and I doubted that anything I could do would elicit any kind of genuine reaction from him, good or bad. I also knew that if he didn’t agree with my mother, she’d get mad at him and that would lead to a couple hours of yelling, and inevitably someone would end up getting hit. It wasn’t really worth the trouble, so he had to pretend to be angry and I had to pretend to be contrite while my mother made me tell him in detail what I had done with Aaron. As much as I didn’t

2

3


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

talk to the people who were going to them. And even if I had wanted to go, I wouldn’t have been able to. I wasn’t allowed to go to other people’s houses; my mother didn’t trust that their parents would be home, and even if they were, she didn’t trust them. She was overprotective – strangely so. I still don’t know what she thought she was protecting us from. Even though Pete was two years younger than me, he was probably my closest friend until my junior year in high school. I did have a couple of boyfriends. Sophomore year it was Todd, a perfectly sweet boyfriend. I had known Todd since fourth grade. I remember the first time he put his hand up my shirt. I held my breath the whole time. We never went further than that, though, and I broke up with him after he got a low SAT score. The year after that there was a not-so-sweet boyfriend— Aaron. Aaron had moved to Maine at the beginning of our junior year and was pressuring me to sleep with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but he kept talking about his ex-girlfriend back in Minnesota and how much he missed her. If I wanted him to like me I was going to have to step it up. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to have sex, I was just scared I’d do something wrong. The bigger problem was that I didn’t know how to get time alone with him. My mother said he could come over, but she was always there, and if we were in another room she’d look in on us every two seconds to see if we wanted popcorn or to tell us she was making cookies. Aaron lost patience after coming over only a couple of times, and one night he said we should go hang out down at the lake. I had the impression that this was an ultimatum. Before him, I had never been a rebellious or difficult child or done anything I wasn’t supposed to, but I liked Aaron, and I didn’t want him to break up with me, so I lied to my mother. I told her that Aaron and I were going to see a movie when in fact I had promised him that I’d go to the lake with him instead. There was a boat landing not too far from my house—maybe half a mile—and no one would be there at night. Aaron picked me up in his father’s blue Buick and drove down the narrow

gravel road to the edge of the lake. It was just after Halloween, and it was one of those cold clear fall nights, the kind where the stars seem to twinkle. He left the car running and the radio low—I think it was En Vogue. We didn’t make out for too long before he took my wrist and nudged my hand to unzip his jeans. My heart was pounding. It was the first time I had ever touched a penis, and I was surprised by how smooth it was. He showed me how to jerk him off. I watched his face while I did it. His eyes were closed, his neck exposed as he leaned his head back. I didn’t know what to expect. He started to tense up, his breathing got shallower, and he suddenly reached down and wrapped his hand around mine, jerking himself off harder and faster. I jumped when I felt warm liquid shoot onto my hand. He didn’t try to get me off, but even if he had, I would have been too shy to enjoy it. We stayed out for a credible amount of time before he brought me home. My mother was still up. She asked how the movie was, and I said it was good. She asked if we really had gone to the movie. I said we had. She asked again. I was terrified that if I lied, she’d find out the truth somehow, so I went ahead and told her. She asked where we went, and I told her we just went down to the lake. She didn’t ask me anything else, not even anything about what we’d actually done at the lake. She just called me a whore and ran upstairs to her room. I heard her wake my stepfather up. “Do you know what your daughter the whore did tonight?” I was curious what his reaction would be. He didn’t really like me. I don’t think he really disliked me, either. It was more of a general apathy, and I doubted that anything I could do would elicit any kind of genuine reaction from him, good or bad. I also knew that if he didn’t agree with my mother, she’d get mad at him and that would lead to a couple hours of yelling, and inevitably someone would end up getting hit. It wasn’t really worth the trouble, so he had to pretend to be angry and I had to pretend to be contrite while my mother made me tell him in detail what I had done with Aaron. As much as I didn’t

2

3


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

care whether my stepfather was mad at me, I was still embarrassed—mortified actually. And so ended my teenage rebellion phase. After that, I was too scared to sneak off with Aaron, so, understandably, he broke up with me. The rest of high school I continued to focus on getting into college. All my friends were boys, but I never fooled around with any of them. As much as I enjoyed them as friends, I was very aware that I was somehow different from the other girls. I wasn’t concerned that I wasn’t pretty enough, but I must have had some kind of character flaw. One that prevented boys from seeing me as anything other than someone to play paintball or watch Monty Python with. I did manage to do well in school and get into a good college with enough financial aid so that there was no question that I’d be able to go. I went to Holy Cross, a small Jesuit liberal arts college in Worcester, Massachusetts. I chose Holy Cross in part because of the architecture and also for their classics department. I think other people go to college with certain expectations. They look forward to living without rules or supervision. They plan to get drunk every night, go to class in their pajamas or skip class and pull all-nighters before an exam. I looked forward to going to college, and I looked forward to being on my own, but getting a good education was my first and only priority. I didn’t have specific career plans, but I was considering teaching, writing, and archaeology. Something academic. I didn’t fit in with the girls at Holy Cross. Their parents were doctors and lawyers. They were bouncy and preppy and blond and loud. I was terrified of them. They only wanted to go to parties and hook up. On Saturday nights, the dorm would reek of beer and hair spray. I had never worn perfume, never worn more makeup than mascara and lip gloss, and didn’t wear jewelry. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea how to dress to go to a party even if I had been invited. Luckily my roommate was more like me. She and her high school boyfriend and a few of his friends from high school had all come to Holy Cross. None of us drank or smoked. We talked, laughed, and ate pizza. We

watched art films and did our homework. I was in the college choir. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I finally hooked up with someone. His name was Jeff, and he was three years older than me. He was nice and smart and made me laugh. He lived off campus with a couple of other guys. I don’t remember when or where we met. Honestly I don’t remember much about our relationship during college. I also have no memory of the first time we had sex. I simply can’t picture it. I don’t remember the time of year or whether we were in his apartment or my dorm room. I don’t remember if it hurt, if I was turned on or scared. After years of anticipation and apprehension leading up to losing my virginity, it’s all a blank. Nothing about our relationship was particularly passionate, but we got along well. It would have been best if we had just stayed good friends.

4

5


Unicorn

Isabella Martin

care whether my stepfather was mad at me, I was still embarrassed—mortified actually. And so ended my teenage rebellion phase. After that, I was too scared to sneak off with Aaron, so, understandably, he broke up with me. The rest of high school I continued to focus on getting into college. All my friends were boys, but I never fooled around with any of them. As much as I enjoyed them as friends, I was very aware that I was somehow different from the other girls. I wasn’t concerned that I wasn’t pretty enough, but I must have had some kind of character flaw. One that prevented boys from seeing me as anything other than someone to play paintball or watch Monty Python with. I did manage to do well in school and get into a good college with enough financial aid so that there was no question that I’d be able to go. I went to Holy Cross, a small Jesuit liberal arts college in Worcester, Massachusetts. I chose Holy Cross in part because of the architecture and also for their classics department. I think other people go to college with certain expectations. They look forward to living without rules or supervision. They plan to get drunk every night, go to class in their pajamas or skip class and pull all-nighters before an exam. I looked forward to going to college, and I looked forward to being on my own, but getting a good education was my first and only priority. I didn’t have specific career plans, but I was considering teaching, writing, and archaeology. Something academic. I didn’t fit in with the girls at Holy Cross. Their parents were doctors and lawyers. They were bouncy and preppy and blond and loud. I was terrified of them. They only wanted to go to parties and hook up. On Saturday nights, the dorm would reek of beer and hair spray. I had never worn perfume, never worn more makeup than mascara and lip gloss, and didn’t wear jewelry. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea how to dress to go to a party even if I had been invited. Luckily my roommate was more like me. She and her high school boyfriend and a few of his friends from high school had all come to Holy Cross. None of us drank or smoked. We talked, laughed, and ate pizza. We

watched art films and did our homework. I was in the college choir. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I finally hooked up with someone. His name was Jeff, and he was three years older than me. He was nice and smart and made me laugh. He lived off campus with a couple of other guys. I don’t remember when or where we met. Honestly I don’t remember much about our relationship during college. I also have no memory of the first time we had sex. I simply can’t picture it. I don’t remember the time of year or whether we were in his apartment or my dorm room. I don’t remember if it hurt, if I was turned on or scared. After years of anticipation and apprehension leading up to losing my virginity, it’s all a blank. Nothing about our relationship was particularly passionate, but we got along well. It would have been best if we had just stayed good friends.

4

5

Unicorn - by Isabella Martin  

After an abortion, a thirty year-old lawyer falls into a deep depression. Unable to cope with the grief, she attempts to distract and punish...

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you