Lola and the Locked Door

...

As I lay alone in bed that night, I thought about what Mr. Young had said. Did I really have the discipline to live according to all the rules that Justin's family followed? Did I even want to? I was pretty sure that what I felt for Justin was love, but even so, I felt like an impostor telling his father about my disciplined approach to tennis when my history with men had been marked by indulgence and excess.

And what about Mr. Young's speech about the importance honesty? First Grant had made me feel guilty about keeping secrets from Justin, and now Justin's father was preaching the same gospel. It was hard to fathom that a womanizer like Grant and a moralist like Mr. Young would agree on anything, but they both seemed to be pressuring me to tell Justin the truth about my promiscuous past.

After an uneasy night of tossing and turning, I woke up in Justin's brother's room on the morning of Thanksgiving. By the time I'd gotten dressed and put on my makeup, the kitchen was in full-swing and several of Justin's relatives had arrived.

Justin and I made the rounds together, introducing me to aunts and cousins whose names I immediately forgot. After awhile, Justin was pulled into a conversation about medicine with an uncle of his who was also a doctor. I listened politely for a few minutes, but eventually, I excused myself to step outside for a breath of fresh air and a break from mingling.

But no sooner had I stepped outside than two of Justin's younger cousins approached me on the porch. They were both blonde girls who looked to be in their early teens. We'd been introduced, but of course, I had no memory of who they were or how they were related to Justin.

"Hey, so... you're not Mormon, right?"

"No," I said, smiling uncertainly. "I'm not."

The two girls looked at each other with mischievous smiles.

"So," one of the girls giggled, "have you had sex?"

"Well, um—" I stammered, blushing.

"What does it feel like?" the other girl chimed in.

"Why don't you ask your Mom?" a voice behind me said. "She did it at least twice to make you two nosy little monsters."

"Jack!" they cried, turning their attention away from me.

When I turned my head, I had the strangest feeling of de ja vu, as if I was seeing someone meeting someone I knew for the first time. Standing a few feet away was a man who looked like a younger version of Justin, except if Justin actually put some work into his appearance.

Like his brother, Jack was tall and blonde, with blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, and straight white teeth. But unlike my boyfriend, who always dressed like his good clothes were in the laundry, Jack was sharply dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket, a crisp white v-neck shirt, a pair of fitted selvage denim jeans, and pristine white sneakers.

"Why don't you two go back inside and give our guest a little privacy?"

"Ugh, fiiiiiine," the girls whined, shuffling off in a huff.

"Hi," I said, extending my hand. "And thank you. I'm Lola."

"Don't mention," he said, taking it firmly in his grasp. "Jack."

"I figured. Justin didn't tell me that the two of you looked so much alike."

"Looks are about the only similarity between the two of us," he laughed.

"He did mention that," I smiled. "He wasn't sure if I would get to meet you this weekend."

"That's funny," he said, leaning against the porch railing next to me. "Because you're the reason I'm here."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, when I heard that my brother was bringing an Asian girl from USC to Mormon Thanksgiving, I figured you could use at least one other person here who isn't totally nuts."

"Aww, you're sweet," I said, giving him a playful shove. "But they aren't that bad."

"Give it time," he said. "You don't know them like I do."

"So you're, like, the black sheep of the family, then? What's that like?"

"I'm used to it," he said, reaching inside his leather jacket and pulling out a small flask. "They've got their lives and I've got mine."

He took a swig from the flask and offered it to me.

"Aren't you a little young for that?" I asked.

"Are you gonna tell on me?" He smirked. "Or are you going to take a sip?"

"Justin wouldn't like that," I said, shaking my head.

"You must really like him to put up with all of this," he said, screwing the cap back on.

"I do."

"It's none of my business, but.." he trailed off.

"What is it?"

"I'm just surprised, is all."

"By what?"

"That a girl like you would want to date someone who asks you to change everything about your life."

I furrowed my brow at Jack, unsure how to respond.

"I just mean... look, I don't have to know you to see that there are a ton of guys out there who would be into you just the way you are."

"Well," I said, brushing my hair back over my ear, "not the right kind of guys, unfortunately."

"Ahh," he nodded knowingly. "Guys see a girl like you, with a body like yours, and they all want the same thing."

I turned to Jack and pulled my head back slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. At Justin's advice, I'd brought only my most modest clothes with me for the weekend, an assortment of sweaters, knee-length skirts, and boyfriend fit jeans designed to deflect rather than attract attention.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I just call them like I see them, and when you grow up around Mormon girls, you get pretty good and figuring out which ones have a hot body hidden under these frumpy-ass clothes."

I clucked my teeth and gave him a shove.

"My clothes are not frumpy!"

Jack grinned at me.

"You get mad when I say you're hot, then you're mad when I call you frumpy." He shook his head. "A guy can't win with you."

"Okay," I rolled my eyes. "That stuff might work on high school girls, but it takes more than that to win with me."

"Oh yeah? What does it take?"

"Why don't you ask your brother?" I smiled.

"Does he actually know?" Jack shot back.

"Wow," I said, a little stunned. "You know, I should go back inside. He's probably looking for me."

"Tell him I said hello," Jack said, unscrewing the flask and taking another sip.

...

Thanksgiving dinner itself was a relatively uneventful affair except for the fact that most of my conversations seemed to eventually segue into a discussion of the virtues and prohibitions of Mormonism. Some of these conversations felt like a sales pitch on how rich my life would be if I converted, while others seemed intended to frighten me with stories of sacrifice and self-abnegation. By the time dinner was over, the one thing I knew for sure was that I didn't even begin to fit in among Justin's family, and I seriously wondered whether I ever would.

It didn't help that throughout dinner, I'd been left more or less to fend for myself. Justin was seated across from me, but the table was so wide and the room was so loud that it was almost impossible for us to have any kind of conversation, much less a private one. As a result, I ended up talking to the people on my side of the table, who happened to be Justin's aunt and uncle and their children.

So by the time dinner was over, I was a little peeved at Justin and a bit unsettled by his whole family, who had ended up being harder to relate to than I'd anticipated.

"Hey," I said, sidling up next to my boyfriend as he put some leftovers into the refrigerator. "Can you we talk in your room, just the two of us?"

Justin glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at me.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for the two of us to be seen going to my room together and closing the door."

"Okay, but isn't there some place private we can go?" I pouted. "I really need to talk to you."

"There's a shed in the backyard," he said. "Go on out there and I'll meet you behind it in five minutes, okay?"

"Fine."

As I walked out onto the porch and headed for the yard, I passed by Jack, who was leaning against the railing and smoking a cigarette.

"Taking a walk?" he asked.

"Something like that," I said distractedly.

"You know," he said, patting the breast of his leather jacket. "I've still got a little whiskey left."

"Actually," I paused at the edge of the porch, "I think I could use some right about now."

He pulled the flask out of his jacket and offered it to me.

"You won't tell Justin?" I said, taking it.

"I can keep a secret if you can," he winked.

I took a sip. The whiskey burned hot as it slid down the back of my throat.

"Damn," I said, my eyes watering as I handed back the flask. "That's strong. I usually don't do shots without a chaser."

He took the cigarette from his lips and held it out. I shook my head.

"One vice at a time," I joked.

"Suit yourself," he said, taking another drag. "But the best things in life are the ones they tell you not to do."

"The wisdom of a 19-year-old," I laughed.

"Experience isn't dictated by age," he chuckled, exhaling smoke. "But something tells me you already know that."

"Okay, Mr. Bad Boy," I said, rolling my eyes and starting down the stairs to the backyard.

"Enjoy your walk," he called after me.

I was idling behind the shed a few minutes later when Justin appeared.

"Hey, baby," he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "How you holding up?"

"Honestly, Justin, this has been a lot harder than I thought it would be."

"Did someone say something to you?" he asked, concerned.

"Baby, everyone has said something to me. Your dad last night, your uncles, your cousins... all everyone wants to talk to me about is how I'm not Mormon."

"I know this is hard. It just takes time."

"You said they would like me!" I whined. "But all they do is remind me how different I am and hint at the fact that I'm not good enough to be with you."

"Lola, that's just because they don't know you like I do."

"Is it?" I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "How well do you actually know me, Justin?"

"C'mon, Lola," he sighed. "Don't be like that."

"I'm serious! We've only been together for less than six months. How much do you actually know about me?"

"I know you're sweet, and you're kind, and you're smart, and you're funny," he smiled weakly. "I know that I love you."

"But do you know that I drink? Do you know that I smoke weed and do drugs sometimes?"

"I don't care about that."

"But they do! And you clearly care what they think, or you wouldn't be talking to me about becoming a Mormon."

Justin furrowed his brow but said nothing.

"Justin, do you know why I don't talk to my father?" I looked away, my voice shaking. "He... he cheated on my Mom. Like, a lot. With his students. Girls around my age."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

"Do you think your parents would be okay with you dating a girl with a dad like that?"

"Your dad is not your fault."

"You realize you didn't answer my question, right?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Justin," I sighed, looking up at him. "You know I'm not a virgin, right?"

"I didn't think you were."

"But like... I'm really not a virgin. Not even close."

"I don't know what that means," he muttered.

"I've done things, okay?" I said, trying not to raise my voice. "I've done things with... different men. Things that your parents would not be okay with."

"Lola," he said softly. He stepped towards me, but I backed away.

"Not just boyfriends, either," I said, my voice trembling. "I've done things with... random guys."

"Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.

"Because!" I was trying to whisper and shout at the same time. "Because you're a virgin and I'm really, really not."

"So what can I do?" he asked quietly. "Do you want me to... talk to my parents?"

"No, Justin," I said, shaking my head. "That's not what I want at all."

"Then what do you want?"

"I... I want you to fuck me," I whispered. "Tonight."

"Lola," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice.

"I know what you're going to say, but Justin... we're so uneven right now. You're, like, this totally pure person, and it makes me feel like I'm just some nasty, dirty slut."

"I don't see you like that."

"Then fuck me, okay?" I was practically pleading. "If you fuck me tonight, then tomorrow, I won't feel so alone. That way, neither of us will be totally pure, and we'll both have a secret that's just ours."

"Lola, don't ask me to do that."

"Please, baby," I whispered, wrapping my arms around him and pushing my chest against his. "If you do this for me, I promise I'll make you feel so, so good."

Before Justin could respond, another voice rang out from behind him.

"Hey, lovebirds," Jack called, his face sticking out from behind the corner of the shed. "It's time for dessert."

...

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether this whole trip had been a bad idea. Indeed, I wasn't sure whether my whole relationship with Justin had been a mistake from the start.

I knew it was wrong of me to pressure Justin for sex, to make him choose between his faith and his girlfriend. At the same time, though, hadn't he forced me to make a similar choice? In order to be with Justin, I had to adopt his religion and all the rules it entailed, yet what sacrifices was he making for me? Viewed in that light, asking him for sex felt like a reasonable request given what he was asking of me. And after all, it was just sex. Even if Justin and his family treated it as this sacred, holy act between husband and wife, I knew that wasn't the only kind of sex that people had.

Of course, I hadn't been having any sex of any kind. I'd been dating Justin for almost six months, but my dry spell was actually longer than that, since I hadn't been sleeping with anyone during the months immediately before I left for Cambodia.

The last time had been more than 9 months earlier when I went to my last "party" at Grant's apartment. I didn't know it would be the last time, but at that point Marisol had mostly replaced me as Grant's Asian fuck toy, and I was deep in the process of introspection that was helping me grapple with my behavior towards men. That night, Grant and one of his Marine Corps buddies had used me the way they always did, piling humiliating invective on me as they double-teamed me mercilessly. I'd cum for them several times, just like always, but when I walked out the door the next morning, I knew I wanted something more than to be a Marine Corps share-slut.

But wanting more didn't mean wanting to be celibate. Yet somehow I had gone from one extreme to another, from being a tag-team, two-cock slut to being mired in a chaste, sexless relationship. Why was I so unable to find a middle ground when it came to men?

So while it was true that I wanted Justin to fuck me in order to level the scales between us, that wasn't the whole truth. I also just needed to get fucked.

That's why, when I heard the doorknob twist and the door to my room creak cautiously open at a little after 1 AM, my heart leapt.

As the door closed gently, I could just make out Justin's tall, dark silhouette in the blackness of the room.

"Hi, baby," I whispered. "Come over here."

Justin didn't say anything, but he walked across the room to the edge of the bed.

"This means a lot to me," I whispered, sitting up in bed.

I'd only brought conservative clothes to wear for Justin's family, but I still wanted to feel sexy and confident this weekend, so I'd brought some lingerie to wear underneath. I would ordinarily have changed into an old t-shirt to sleep in, but on the hope that Justin would visit me, I'd worn a lacy, black-and-pink push-up bra and a matching g-string thong to bed.

As he stood silently beside the bed, I knelt on top of the covers, my head almost level with his chest. Now, we were just a few inches apart in the darkness.

We were now close enough that I could smell him, but when I breathed in, it wasn't Justin's familiar musk. Instead, I smelled a sinful bouquet of whiskey and cigarettes.

The smell knocked me backwards onto the bed.

"J—Justin?" I said, my voice faltering.

"Even better."

"Oh my god," I breathed, scooting backward across the bed until my back was against the wall. "Jack?"

"Let me get a good look at you."

He reached knowingly for the reading lamp on the bedside table and flipped the switch, casting small spotlight across the bed. As the light landed on me, I realized how exposed I was, sitting on top of the covers in nothing but my push-up bra and tiny lace thong.

Standing beside the bed was Justin's 19-year-old brother. He had shed the leather jacket, and without it, his white v-neck t-shirt revealed large shoulders and well-muscled arms. His forearms in particular seemed to bulge, the sinews spun into iron by hundreds of hours of physical labor at the auto shop.

"Jack," I hissed, grabbing a pillow to cover my body. "You cannot be here."

"Relax," he said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Nobody saw me come in."

Those words were not reassuring. I sat upright and tried to take a firmer tone.

"Jack, you can NOT be here right now."

"Why not?" he chuckled. "This is my room. You're in my bed."

His speech was slurred and I could tell he was drunk.

"You're wasted," I said. "Go sleep it off somewhere else."

Instead, he stretched himself out and lay down on the bed beside me.

"I didn't come here to sleep."

I pointed at the door and tried to steel my tone without raising my voice.

"Jack, you need to get the fuck out of here right now."

"Such language," he smiled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "And here I thought you wanted to be a Mormon wife."

"Don't make me go get Justin."

"Oh yeah? Are you going to walk out into the hallway, wearing all that," he paused, waving his hand at my body, "and wake everybody up? To say what, exactly?"

"That you came in my room."

"My room, you mean," he corrected. "Gee, I guess I was a little drunk and wandered in by mistake. Though it is kind of fucked up that I'm the one sleeping on the couch."

"Then go back to the couch, Jack."

"No, I think I'm gonna stay," he said, stretching his arms out. "I'm just starting to get comfortable."

"Jack, I want you to go," I hissed.

"But we both know that's not what you really want, is it?" He smiled knowingly.

A sudden chill ran down my spine.

"What you really want is to get fucked tonight."

I felt a sinking feeling opening up in the pit of my stomach.

"You're so quiet now, but you had a lot to say behind the shed this evening."

"I don't know what you think you heard, but—"

"Shh," he said softly. "It's okay. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

He reached down and began to unbuckle his pants.

"Jack, you can't do that," I stammered, but he continued unzipping his pants.

"What do you think would happen if Justin came in here right now?" His pants were fully unzipped now, the fly propped open by the bulge in Jack's briefs. "What would he think?"

"He trusts me," I murmured. "He trusts me more than you."

"You sure about that? Even after everything you told him this evening? About how you do things for random men?"

"He trusts me," I said again, clinging to this statement like a mantra.

"Maybe," he said. "But my parents don't."

Jack folded one arm behind his head, and then he slipped his other hand inside the elastic band of his boxers.

"Jack, stop..." I whispered, but he ignored me, beginning to slowly stroke himself beneath the fabric of his boxers.

"They're already suspicious of you," he sighed contentedly. "You're already an outsider. But if they found out that I was in here with you, like this..."

He turned and looked me in the eye.

"They'll never let it go. You'll never live it down."

"Please stop," I croaked, becoming painfully aware that I had taken on a pleading tone.