unpopped: chapter one

I’m the third person in line and running late to a meeting I don’t have to be at. I complained about having nothing to do last week so Lydia put me in charge of coffee. She’s about to send her first issue to print as Pioneer University’s youngest Editor in Chief. It’d be impressive if anyone else had applied. The humanities at Pioneer are a sad participation prize to anyone in central Michigan that expresses interest and isn’t inhibited by Puritanical values.

“Can I get two cappuccinos please?” Lyd has already texted me twice to ask where I am.

Blink-182 vibrates through the coffeeshop. I’m looking at my favorite barista’s gauges when I see Delilah Marks.

Every campus has some variation of Delilah Marks. They’re the girls that hook up with grad students in open relationships and dye their hair the color of crayons because the worst thing to be (according to them) is uninteresting. To stand out on Pioneer’s campus all you have to do is admit you didn’t grow up going to Church. For Pioneer, Delilah is so extraordinary she became an unapologetic local celebrity.

Today Delilah’s sporting an eighteen-pound ensemble of JNCO jeans and Doc Martens. She’s scribbling in a faux fur journal and ignoring everyone staring at her.

“Two caps for Erin.”

I grab the drinks and try to sneak another look at Delilah before leaving.

*

I sneak into Pioneer Press’s office and see that Lydia is in the middle of a monologue. Cooper and Michelle are sitting towards the front of the room and there are three sophomores in the back. They seem uninterested so they’re probably getting extra credit for coming.

“We’re going to need two photographers this weekend. We’re playing Eastville and rumor has it the tailgate events will be noteworthy. I don’t want to miss out on coverage of another hunger strike because someone had to ‘use’ the bathroom.”

Lydia glares at Cooper. He’s the senior photographer on staff. He and Lydia hook up when they’re drunk. He once told me I’ll never make it as an artist if I don’t do shrooms with him.

“I take a piss one fucking time.” Cooper ruffles his hands through his hair and laughs.

“One mistake is more than enough.” Lyd’s eyes soften when she sees me, “Oh thank god.”

“Sorry I’m late. Forgot about Braxton’s afternoon rush. What’d I miss?” I hand Lyd her coffee and hop onto a desk.

“We were actually going to assign stories,” Lydia smirks before taking a sip. Her wet dream is to get me to write for the school paper. She knows I don’t give a shit about AP style or reverse pyramid story structure.

I play Candy Crush instead of listening to the world’s most boring brainstorm. Then Michelle says my name.

“Erin, have you heard of Triple X?” Michelle, the opinions editor, asks.

I shake my head. It doesn’t seem like Lyd, Cooper, or the three freshmen have heard of Triple X either.

“It’s this underground sex-positivity club. They’re the ones behind the condoms showing up in all the residence halls. They’ve also spray painted their symbol--three X’s--all over campus. Administration has been trying to shut them down but I’ve heard Triple X has something huge in the works. It’s like, Anonymous level shit. My roommate said she heard something about people wearing masks and handing out vibrators.”

I hold my breath at the word vibrator and shoot a worried look at Lydia.

Lydia pushes her cartoonish glasses up the bridge of her nose and asks, “So what’s the assignment you’re suggesting?”

Michelle responds, “I have a source with a connection to the club. They said they’ll share the meeting info if we send someone in undercover to write an article about them. It’d be a huge fuck you to administration. Think about it! They don’t let the health center give people birth control--they would freak if they saw what Triple X has planned. That’s why I think Erin has to write this profile.”

“Why can’t you write it?” Cooper interrupts.

“Because I’m one of the three editors on staff. It would take one Google search to figure out I’m doing a story on them. Erin’s never written for us and doesn’t even have social media. She’d be perfect for this piece.” Michelle is almost breathless.

Lydia notices my discomfort, “Okay that’s an exciting suggestion, but we haven’t even asked Erin if she wants to. Plus we have to figure out the coverage of the Homecoming game against Eastville.”

The rest of the meeting blurs. Is Michelle right? Should I do this? I’m almost twenty-one and haven’t even kissed anyone. Plus it would be a bitch to make this news? Don’t I have to have an angle? Who would believe that I’d randomly join a sex-positivity club? I’m gonna have to ask Lydia about this later.

On her way out Michelle slips a folded piece of looseleaf into my hand, “Think about it okay?”

When she leaves I unfold the note: Basement of the sex shop on Blume St @ 7 pm. Wear a heart on your cheek. PWord is fuck me.

*

Lydia flops into our couch with her laptop and gasps, “Oh my god are you gonna go! I can’t believe you’re joining a sex cult.”

Lydia and I have lived together since we were random roommates freshman year, but because of her WASPy background and my Midwestern inexperience we never really talk about sex. When we got drunk together for the first time she told me that she lost her virginity at a journalism conference in high school. I made fun of her because she went to church right after. Sometimes she’ll show me the guy’s Instagram if he posts with his girlfriend. I think Cooper’s the only other person she’s hooked up with and he barely counts.

I turn off the stove and put tea leaves in the whistling kettle.

“I feel like I should? Michelle made some good points. I mean, don’t you want me to write for Pioneer Press?” I look at the newspaper clippings Lydia had won awards for. Her parents had them framed and I tease her for hanging them up.

“If you want to do it then I’m all for it. Just, don’t do it just to prove something okay?” Lydia twists her blonde hair around her thin finger.

“I prooooomise!” My phone buzzes, “Oh fuck it’s almost six-thirty. I’ve gotta get going.”

“Okay. Text me if things get weird or it turns into an orgy. Do you want to wear my Consent is Sexy t-shirt!” Lydia shouts over the clicks of her keyboard and I’m out the door.

*

“Fuck me?” I try to say it without blushing. My face is hot and I’m worried I’m going to sweat my Sharpie cheek heart off. I look stupid. Why did I bring a backpack! Are Marina and the fucking Diamonds in charge of this club?

“First time? You’re late.” The shop attendant laughs in front of a wall of dildos, “The basement’s in the back and to the right. And--take breath kid you’re stressing me out.”

Walking into the basement is like stepping into a submarine about to submerge. Everywhere is dark except for the spots glowing with red light bulbs. The smell of sweat clings to the walls. Everyone’s face is shadowy and speckled with inky hearts. I look at my phone and watch the clock change from 6:59 to 7:00.

“Alright, fuckers listen up. We’re about to start the meeting so it’s time to quit licking clit and pay attention!”

My stomach plummets as I realize Delilah Marks is shouting at us. She’s changed out of her eighteen-pound outfit into a leather catsuit and flannel. I feel like a prude for still wearing the sweater and jeans she saw me in this afternoon. Of course Delilah is a part of Triple X.

“I hope everyone’s got their gaz on because we’re gonna talk about masturbation! Get ready for our discussion of flicking the bean, beating your meat, and spanking the bank with…”

I’m lost in the roar of the room and can’t believe Delilah is so earnestly yelling about masturbation. Where the fuck are all of these horndogs during the day? I mean Pioneer has every freshman sign a purity pledge at orientation for Christ’s sake.

“Before we begin our meeting on masturbation we have to bring up our much anticipated Fuck You to the administration. We’ve always had problems with them, but I’d anticipate an extreme amount of pushback when it comes to this…”

How long has Triple X been around? Who are half of these people? What do they think about the Abstinence-Only protestors that flood the quad every day?

“We need to break up into committees. I need groups in charge of setting up, distribution, damage control, and social media. We’re not going to get those vibrators out there if we aren’t strategic about it.”

Holy fuck. Michelle was right! They’re giving out vibrators on campus.

I try to make as many mental notes as possible while Delilah organizes the Fuck Yourself Fun Fest. I’m standing on the outside of the crowd and start to recognize faces from 100 level lectures.

Almost an hour is spent watching an animated simulation of clitoral stimulation, listening to a guy talk about his journey away from the death grip method, and being handed a pamphlet on ethical porn consumption. I feel like I should take two showers after this. I mean this is by far the weirdest thing I’ve ever been a part of.

The meeting is coming to a close and we’re invited to leave or mingle until Patty, the owner kicks us out.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, “Hey stranger. I’ve never seen you here before. I’m Delilah.”

My face flushes, “I’m...Erin.”

Delilah possesses the sharp beauty that turns my chest into a puddle and hurts to be close to.

She presses a finger into her soft jaw and eyes me up and down, “So am I right? Are you new to Triple X?”

“Um, yes. I mean, this is my first meeting. My friend told me to come. I mean go to this. She said I’d uh learn a lot--and I already have! I didn’t realize there was so much to know about...masturbation.” I whisper the last word and want to punch myself for sounding like such a loser.

“That’s awesome! I’m glad you enjoyed it. No topic is off-limits so feel free to suggest whatever. Everyone’s super cool. We’re like a little family here,” Delilah waves her thick arms in a circle around the room, “you shouldn’t feel weird around us. We’re all freaks. Even the goody two shoes that are too scared to come to a meeting. They want you to think they’re better than us because they keep it a secret. We let our freak flags fly here. Sex is healthy and natural and needs to be expressed.”

I try to believe her, but does she really think that a basement of face-painted freaks are a family because they fuck?

“Wait. I think we had a class together. You’re a writer!” Delilah’s smooth voice brings me back into my body, “We had Early Brit Lit together. You wrote a poem about your mom.”

“I, uh, yeah. With Dr. Michaels?”

“Yeah. She was a badass.”

We laugh awkwardly then Delilah says, “You should apply to be Frida Nipple.”

“Frida Nipple?”

“That’s the pseudonym for the writer of Triple X’s blog ‘The Cherry Pop.’ The name’s kind of a joke, like ‘Free the Nipple.’ The old Frida just graduated and we haven’t filled their spot yet. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of shit to say. You should look into it. You just write one post a week and it’s published on Sundays. You can seriously write about anything as long as it’s loosely related to sex. Text me a writing sample and we can meet next week to do a background check--nothing official of course. Everything has to be off-book with shit like this.”

Delilah takes her phone out and hands it to me, “Here. Add your contact info and I’ll text you the application process.”

I hold her hot pink iPhone and respond, “Whoa. Yeah...I would love to check that out."