“I think I know who wants to touch you with his ten-foot pole,” she teases.

This is getting old. She’s been at it all day, harassing me about Austin. I never should’ve told her about our fake date. Or about his party tonight.

“Jesus, can we talk about the game for once? You’re obsessed.” I want to talk to my best friend, play my game and zone out tonight. Jackie is having none of it.

“I’m not obsessed. Just an interested party. It was my idea, after all!” she reminds me casually.

Technically, she suggested an escort. I compromised with a sex tutor. The nuanced difference seems to be lost on Jackie. She’s happy I’m going to finally ‘get my freak on.’

I made the mistake of confessing my inexperience to her about a year ago. Months of merciless teasing culminated in a strip-o-gram on my doorstep. At least, I hope he was just a stripper. I never let him in to find out. I did give him a fifty-dollar tip to leave, though.

Never give a home address to strangers online, kids!

Jackie was pissed I wasted a perfectly good stripper and wouldn’t stop hounding me about the idea of ‘immersion therapy.’ She said it worked for her cousin’s fear of heights. It could work for my fear of cocks too. Her words, not mine. I don’t use words like…that.

“Bee tee dubs, now that I’ve seen him, he’s starring in all my wet dreams! I don’t know how you haven’t asked him to put it in you yet. I’d drop my panties in the first fifteen seconds for that man.”

I used to blush when Jackie made lewd comments, but it only egged her on. She claims she’s desensitizing me to it, and it’s for my own good. I think she’s vulgar to everyone. In any case, I’ve trained myself not to react to her. A talent I’m thankful for around Austin, who also seems to enjoy making me blush.

“First of all, stop having wet dreams about Austin. He’s mine. Well, not mine mine, but you know what I mean.” I’m not sure even I know what I mean. “And second, you know this is hard for me, so stop pushing! I’ve got four weeks.” My response comes out more whiny than assertive.

“First, I bet he’s hard for you too,” she says in an extra-sultry voice. I roll my eyes, but she laughs. “Second, you can’t control my wet dreams. The pussy wants what the pussy wants. And third, you only have three weeks now.”

She’s right. About the third thing, not the first two.

Ewww.

I only have three more weeks with Austin. When I first thought about ‘immersion therapy,’ four weeks seemed like plenty of time. It all fits on the schedule, my ‘sex-abus,’ nice and neat. Now, I can’t believe the first week is gone already.

“Fine, three weeks is still a really long time,” I claim, not really believing it myself.

I cringe at the thought of not seeing Austin again until Tuesday. It’s been terrifying, but it’s also surprisingly fun. He’s so much more than I thought.