Fingered
Lauren’s friend Katie goes to Catholic school. They know each other from Girl Scouts. It’s her parents’ anniversary or something, so she’s staying at Lauren’s all weekend.
Katie’s kind of a bitch. I can’t tell if she’s like this all the time, or if it’s because we’ve never met and she wants to see if she can pull it off.
Katie is one of those girls who says she has a boyfriend from another school, which, like, come on. She says they see each other at CYO dances and went roller skating once. Lauren’s buying it.
“Have you guys made out?”
“The chaperones don’t let you get too close at dances, so we had to sneak outside before my dad came to get me. His friends blocked us and everything.”
I don’t believe her for a second.
It’s easier to just play along that I don’t hate every minute than to convince Lauren that we don’t have to watch Dirty Dancing again or go to bed at midnight just because her mom said to, even though we’re in the basement without any supervision. I wouldn’t call it peer pressure. You can’t be the leader if people are mostly indifferent to you. Going along with it gets tedious, but it’s the only real way to keep friends.
Katie’s pretty bossy for someone whose mom still braids her hair, and Lauren is trying to look cool, so we’re doing what Katie wants to do, which is watching a different 80’s movie on cable and playing “Never Have I Ever.”
I have to play the whole game off as a joke. I take Katie’s lead, because in order to get out of this game without incriminating or embarrassing myself, I need to have done more with a boy than Lauren, but less than Katie claims to have done with her boyfriend, since I’m pretty sure she’s lying about almost everything.
“Never have I ever … gotten fingered.”
Lauren blushes. “I know what it’s going to sound like, but, like, how do you know if that’s happened?”
I know Katie’s going to laugh, so I try to keep a straight face.
“You don’t know?” She’s so smug.
Poor Lauren hangs her head, ashamed. I’ve been reading my mom’s monthly Cosmo for years, so I feel pretty confident that I know all the regular stuff, and some of the weird shit, but I don’t go around bragging about it.
“It’s when a guy, like, puts his fingers in you.”
“In?”
“In.” Katie points upward insistently with one finger, which is not how I think they do it.
“And then what? Do they just leave them up there, like a tampon?”
“They, like, move them around for a while.”
“A while?”
“Oh my god, Lauren, I wish I could take a picture of your face right now.”
“I don’t think I ever want to do that.”
“It’s supposed to feel good. You’re supposed to want them to do it.”
“I’ll pass.” Lauren looks like she might cry.
“Well, I never have,” I say. “What about you, Katie? Your boyfriend ever finger you outside of a CYO dance?” That should shut her right up.
“No – not yet. But I’d let him if he wanted to.” She tries to look coy, but she just looks like a hungry baby.
“I can’t believe you’d want him to do that.”
“I didn’t say I wanted it. I said I’d let him.” Katie’s defensive. I prefer it that way.
“What’s the difference between saying ‘yes’ and wanting it?” I ask. I really have no idea.
* * * * *
“Fingered” is an excerpt from Jaime Fountaine’s novella Manhunt, published as a chapbook by Mason Jar Press.