The Accidental Virgin Read Online Free PDF

despite the affairs, and seemed to tolerate each other fairly well, especially during Mostly Mozart season at Lincoln Center.
    Even given that the job was a distraction, it still seemed peculiar that her sex drive had stalled. How had it happened? She supposed it was a combination of will and inertia. Post-Brian, the early months: Stacy had missed physical contact, but not the sex act itself. It had grown flat at the end of the relationship, and she had alleviated her acute symptoms handily on her own. She had pined for admiration, flattering comments, inter-locking toes in bed. But adoration from a man, she reminded herself often, wasn’t life sustaining. Men were not mandatory. Unlike food, water, the impulsive shopping spree, Stacy could survive without Brian’s hands and lips. She was a strong, emotionally stable woman, proudly independent, making it in the world. She enjoyed her own company. But there’d been times in the fall and winter of last year, undeniable times, when she caught a glimpse of herself in grubby pajamas late at night, when this thought would unsettle her:
I don’t like myself.
Then, the despair, the “what will become of me?” fear, had to be dealt with before she could fall asleep.
    With the exception of those fitful hours, Stacy got her rest. She went to work on weekdays (and Saturdays). She exercised. She ate at least three pieces of fruit a day. Months and the need for affection passed. It fell away slyly. She hadn’t even noticed. Over time, sexual inactivity had become part of her identity. Charlie was right: She did reek of disuse, everyone could tell. And now she could smell it on herself. How dreadfully embarrassing.
    Such reflections made for a depressing subway ride. Not that the underground crunch would have been better had she been contemplating the ocean deep and blue. The train temperature felt at least 200 degrees Fahrenheit and the air, practically visible as steam, pressed against her chest and legs. Stacy hung on to her metal strap and replayed last night’s rejection scene. Had the rules of seduction changed that much? she wondered. Never in her life has she felt so little sexual tension, such a void of interest from a man. Stacy was an exceptionally attractive woman. She had a passionate flame of red hair. She was pink of cheek. Wasn’t that enough anymore?
    In her 20s, Stacy’s sexual patterns had been un-complicated. She’d meet a guy in a bar or at a party, sleep with him right away, and they’d become boyfriend/girlfriend for several weeks or months. They’d break up, and she’d meet someone new. Perhaps the rules changed once a woman entered her fourth decade. Or maybe the problem was men over 30. If Jason were 25, he wouldn’t have hesitated. At 35, he wanted Stacy’s respect in the morning. Was this evidence of a decline in testosterone levels?
    Stacy studied the other subway passengers, trying to guess the last time each had had sex. That cooing couple, unmarried (no rings), mature (40s), had clearly engaged within an hour of entering the train station. The 300-pound woman, sweating copiously despite the mini-fan, wore a ring and had probably done it within the month. A severely attractive man in seersucker at the strap next to Stacy wore the satisfied expression of sexual accomplishment. He smiled at her as she examined him. Stacy quickly turned away. She could practically feel the throbbing of a scarlet
V
on her forehead.
    She got off at Grand Central. The huge train station cum shopping mall was swarming with thousands of people who fully enjoyed a decadent sex life. Preoccupied by passers-by (“last night,” “within a month,” “two times this week and thrice on Sunday”), Stacy slogged through the building and out onto 42nd Street. She turned toward the greasy deli for her usual breakfast sandwich. Then she hesitated. The kissy-kissy man would be inside. If she were to enter, he’d naturally assume that she’d returned for another helping of