Lay Me Down

By L. Marie Cook

Through a collection of humorous and uncensored nonfiction essays, L. Marie takes us through her most monumental and entertaining sexual encounters. After devising a plan to lose her virginity on a beach at thirteen, she haphazardly stumbles down the road of the sexually active. From threesomes in the Bahamas, motor-boats from strippers, anal sex tips from drag queens and screwing in public, L. Marie discovers herself with hilariously brave honestly. Lay Me Down is a lough-out-loud funny adventure you won't be able to put down!

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Marie Cook
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452453330

L. Marie Cook

L. Marie Cook is a freelance writer and the author of Lay Me Down, the First Prize winner in the Wild Card division at the 2012 Los Angeles Book Festival. She has a BA in Communications from the University of Hawaii at Hilo where she was the Arts and Culture Editor for Ke Kalahea. L. Marie has been published on Rat's Ass Review, Airplane Reading, Las Brujas de Yerbas, and Guerrilla Reads. She currently lives in Brooklyn, New York and plays the Ukulele. You can also find her work on her blog: underlmarie.blogspot.com

Book preview

Lay Me Down

A Memoir

L. Marie Cook

Copyright © 2011 by L. Marie Cook

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For E. Doug

I love you, Dad. I’m sad that you are gone. Part of me wishes you were alive to read my book, but the other part knows you would’ve beaten the living daylights out of me after reading the first paragraph.

Author’s Note

These are all true stories, but some of the names of the people in them have been changed, and for good reason.

Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

Part 1 Jail Bait

Fucked for the Very First Time

Breakin’ the Law

Pajama Party

La Vie en Rose

A Blonde, a Brunette, and a Fire Crotch

Oh Henry

Part 2 She’s Only 18

My Sister’s Teacher

The Quiet, Mohawk Type

Word to Your Mother

Wheel Me and Deal Me

Anal and Andy

Bobbing for Psychos

Part 3 Almost a Woman

A Midsummer Night’s Wet Dream

I Am an Island

Mission Abort

Tin-Women

Murphy’s Law

Lay Me Down

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Part 1: Jail Bait

Fucked for the Very First Time

I really put a lot of thought into tossing my virginity into the trash. I sat in my eighth grade classroom, staring out the window, not paying attention in algebra. Which was the second go-around because I had failed to grasp basic concepts the first time. I was trying to figure out who I would give it up to. None of the boys my age would do because virgin-on-virgin action is just absolutely awful. I had heard the horror stories from my older sister, Megan, and her friends. Neither party knows what the hell they’re doing and it is over just way too quickly. Plus, even if the boys my age had already experienced the deed, chances of them having enough experience and maturity not to traumatize me was slim to none. Young guys were not an option. I still, to this day, have never had sex with a virgin or anyone under the age of eighteen, but it’s not for noble reasons, just lack of supply and opportunity to encounter good-looking, experienced, mature minors when I was still an adolescent. Now I wouldn’t dare get with anyone under twenty-three for all the same reasons, and the jail thing.

I decided on someone who was older, nineteen in fact. He was the brother of one of Megan’s boyfriends. I know that may sound kind of weird: my sister fucked his brother, so I’ll fuck him. But he was sweet, good-looking, and we had hung out a lot when his brother was over banging my sister. Dan would sit with me in my driveway and chat with me about things like sports and movies, you know, the things teenagers talk about. We had a nice history, so to speak, and we knew each other well. He was a good choice because I did trust him, even if it was in a naive way.

Next I needed to decide when and where. My birthday had just passed at the end of April, and it was now May. I looked at my calendar and noticed that there was a full moon on the first of June. That sounded like a great day—first of the month and a full moon! It was sign. I was very weird about things like that. I think I watched way too many movies. One movie in particular shaped the way I see relationships and definitely influenced where I chose to lose my virginity. I was obsessed with The Blue Lagoon. I had seen that movie so many times and always wanted to be Brooke Shields, with her long hair, running around nearly naked. She was so tan and pretty. I wanted that life. So naturally I wanted to have sex for the first time on the beach, minus the cannibals.

About a week before the first of June, I called up Dan from my favorite phone chatting spot, the Mexican tile steps that came off of the French doors to my bedroom. It was a private entrance that faced the backyard garden. It was such a cool setup. Even now that I am older, I have yet to find a spot that schwank in any of my latest residences. I loved that spot. Numerous lengthy conversations took place on those three little steps—on the phone, in person, and in my head. I wrote songs and poems there. I read countless books there. And most importantly, I kissed many strapping young men there, sneaking them up and down that threshold. Those steps were where I concocted and began to execute my plan to get fucked for the very first time.

I was extremely nervous as I dialed Dan’s number and the phone started to ring, but the virginity had to go, so I worked up the courage. Luckily, he answered, because that would have been a really awkward voicemail. I started the conversation with small talk, killing time so I didn’t sound too desperate. I let him drone on and on about some motorcycle he wanted to get, blah blah blah. All the while my hands were sweating, struggling to hold the phone. My hands sweat when I get nervous, and it is super sexy to feel like a sweaty pig while trying to act nonchalant. Thank God this conversation was not going on in person, because he might have refused to fuck me if he saw beads of sweat rolling off my palms.

I used to get so nervous when hot boys were talking to me that I would have to shit about ten times in an hour. It was already embarrassing to have braces, but add hot boys into the equation, and I was a sweating, shitting mess. It’s not so bad anymore. The anxiety has worn off after years of exposure to men’s ding dongs. Now I’m just a regular mess who shit’s and sweats on different timetables.

When he finally took a breath from his rambling, I made my proposal, So I want to lose my virginity, and I want to lose it to you. I thought he might say no for some reason, but what nineteen-year-old guy wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to un-forcibly pluck the flower of a young maiden with the sex drive of a rabbit? (Oh yeah, I was a chronic masturbator from as far back as I can remember. The urge has abated in the last few years, but back then, my life-size, plush, Fival Goes West doll and I had a very intimate relationship that consisted of me humping his mousy face.) Of course he agreed; he was flattered I had chosen him. He acted like it was no big thing, and once I got it over with and asked him, I realized that it probably wasn’t that big of a deal to him. I still had these residual nervous heart palpitations, but they were beginning to slow. As I started to calm down, I realized I really didn’t have anything else to talk about, so I told him to pick me up on the first of June at around eleven p.m., and then I got off the phone.

Now that Dan was on board, I needed to organize my escape plan. There was no way I would be able convince my mother to let me go on a date or anything like that, and my three friends (yes, only three) lived too far away for me to say I was going to one of their houses for a sleepover. Megan was notorious for always sneaking out, so my mother turned the security alarm on every night. She actually installed it to keep Megan’s rebellious ass in, not robbers out. But by some kind of a miracle, a stroke of pure luck, I found a glitch in my mom’s security system. We were in the process of renovating our house and had just replaced all the windows and installed a new security system. I saw the asshole security man install the magnetic blocks on the French doors of my awesome private entrance. I sat there watching him, glaring at him as if here were an evil stepmother locking me in my tower so no prince would ever fuck me. It wasn’t his fault; he was just doing his job. But I still thought he was an asshole for doing it.

One day while I was showering, belting out No Doubt’s I’m Just a Girl, I noticed that there wasn’t a security sensor on my bathroom window. I looked and looked, and it was nowhere to be found. I don’t know if Asshole caught on to my pouty face and purposely neglected to put the magnetic box of adolescent doom on my window or if he honestly forgot. Either way, I was free! I cranked open the sizable casement window, lightly hopping up and down in pure joy at my discovery. I looked down to see how far the jump would be. It was doable. I was so excited and I started to sing so loudly that our next-door neighbor looked out her kitchen window at me. It was daytime, and the house wasn’t armed, so I would have to double check it at night to be sure I was in the clear. But so far, things were looking up.

That night I tested the window to be totally sure it was un-armed, which was a dangerous gamble. I hated the sound of that fucking alarm. It was the sound of my youthful and rebellious freedom being spoiled by my sister’s numerous failed escapes, dinging away like it was mocking me. I slowly turned the crank to the newly installed casement window of extremely efficient size to climb through, and there wasn’t a sound. My grin was so big it hurt my little braced face.

After the longest week ever, June first had finally arrived. Dan was supposed to pick me up around eleven o’clock. I had planned it so I would have sex at midnight, too stupid to realize that made it the second of June, but that’s beyond the point. I had spent the majority of the hour shitting, sweating, and attempting to clean myself up to look as sexy as possible. He called me when he was close. I was lucky enough to have my own phone line in my room. My mom was not generous in giving me the separate line as much as she was annoyed that I would answer her phone and not take messages, or that my friends continually beeped in when she was on an important call.

He called and said he was around the corner. I told him to park a few houses down so no one would see his car in front of my house. I skipped to my bathroom as quietly as possible and slowly cranked open the window. Every sound I made seemed to echo through the bathroom. The window seemed a lot louder without all the ambient noises of the day to mask its immense squeakiness that I never noticed until that very moment. It took at least a few minutes to get the window open, as I was terrified of my mother waking up from the noise. So I cranked the handle as slow as humanly possible. At one point I contemplated grabbing the WD40, but decided against it, thinking it would take me too much time to run to the kitchen cabinet to get it. When the window was open far enough to climb through, I tried to lift myself up into it. I didn’t anticipate that this was going to be the hardest part to do quietly, considering it just took me an eon to crank the window open.

It took me three attempts to jump up to the windowsill. The base of the window was just below my shoulders when I stood in the tub. To just jump and lift didn’t work very well. I could get my ribcage over, but I wasn’t strong enough, and there wasn’t enough space to haul my ass up the rest of the way, let alone in silence. I was working up a good sweat, and now I was taking too long. I was starting to panic, thinking, What if he doesn’t want to wait, and he leaves? I told him I was on my way.

I looked at the side of the tub. I stood up on it and got the idea of jumping from there. I landed a little higher up this time when I jumped and was able to get into the window. I sat halfway between my bathroom and my freedom, peering over into the flowerbed below. The jump looked a whole lot higher from up there. I didn’t know if I could make it. There were so many things I hadn’t worked out in this plan. Screw it, I thought, and I jumped. I landed without grace in the flowerbed, dropping to my knees. I got up and dusted myself off. I looked up to the window, realizing it was about nine feet. How the fuck am I supposed to get back up? (I had, and still have, such a potty mouth.) I didn’t have time to deal with it. I would figure it out after the deed was done.

I walked down the driveway slowly. At the bottom, I looked for his car. I saw it a few houses down and ran towards it. He was leaning on the passenger side, waiting to open the door for me. He was wearing jean and his black and yellow motorcycle jacket which had extra padding in the shoulders and elbows, creating the illusion that he was more muscular then he really was. His hair was perfectly spiked with gel and his frosted tips gave the look of ultimate cool. I could smell him before I reached him. He wore Cool Water. Ahhh…how I love that smell. I get wet every time I smell it. Picture the most hideous man you have ever seen. If he were wearing Cool Water, I would still close my eyes, take in a deep breath of that sweet, horny eau de toilette, and let out a nice long mmmm… through a mild, close-mouthed smile. Since the guy I had sex with for the first time wore it only makes that scent even more potent to my loins.

I was so happy that Dan had been able to get the car away from his brother in order to pick me up that night. He said he told his brother that he was going to meet a girl but didn’t tell him it was me. I was a little hurt that he didn’t say who it was, but I understood how it could look for a nineteen-year-old to have sex with a thirteen-year-old, and how he might not want to brag about it. He was in community college, and I was in the eighth grade. That doesn’t look so good on paper.

He said he knew of a good beach spot. He took us there with no hesitation in his driving. I realize now that I was probably not the first girl he had escorted there, but hey, it was still more romantic than the back of his piece-of-shit car. I’m not knocking anyone who has lost their virginity in a car, but you and I both know how unfortunately uncomfortable car sex is, killing any inkling of romance. It is oh so romantic to have a seatbelt buckle rammed into your back, ass, or any combination of the two while trying to feel sexy in an already awkward situation.

We got to the beach, and the moon was full and bright. He had a blanket that he pulled out of the back seat. I was so excited that, once we got to the bottom of the wooden stairway that led to the sand, I started to sit down right there. He laughed and told me our spot was further down the beach and to take it easy. I was almost irritated. I was at the beach; I didn’t care that if we went further down.

As we walked in the sand, it dawned on me that I hadn’t even kissed this guy before, and I was about to skip all bases and go straight to sex with him. My stomach began to ache. The walking actually helped calm my nerves, but this thought was making them all riled up again. We didn’t really speak during our little stroll. He just kept looking back at me, smiling, which in turn made me smile. But my mind was racing. What is his penis going to look like? Will it hurt? Will I bleed? Will I have an orgasm? Will I have a glow after? Will people be able to tell by looking at me that I’m not a virgin anymore?

We finally got to his little, secret sex spot. He laid down the blanket in a corner where the seawall jetted out. It was actually really nice. We lay down, and he immediately leaned in and started to gently suck on my ear lobe. Then we started to kiss. He kissed my body, my neck, the divot by my collarbone. He helped me take off my shirt. He was smooth and slow, and there was a warmth in the air and on his body that was so comforting. But once my shirt was off, it suddenly got really cold, and the once romantic, warm breeze became a freezing chill. Luckily, it made my nips hard and perked up my skin nice and tight. To get warmer, I got on top of him, and he kissed my neck and my ears. He liked my ears. I think it might have been a fetish actually.

I started to grind on him slowly. I felt like such a natural, super hot sex panther. So far this whole sex thing was really easy, and I liked how it made me feel. I felt like I was being loved and seen. This kind of attention was exactly what I was looking for in my life. It felt so good to be touched and kissed and caressed. I had already made out plenty of times. I had