Storytellers takes a glimpse into an artist’s inner psyche through a story of their choice.

In this edition, Hether Fortune of Wax Idols talks about losing her virginity within the confines of a short story called Death Between My Legs.

PART 1 — BUILD

Jason was a virgin and so was I. He had a mop of dirty blonde hair and black rimmed glasses. He wasn’t taller or shorter than me. He wasn’t thinner or fatter than me. He was quiet and manipulative. He was a blossoming drug addict and quite possibly a sociopath. Jason had recently attempted suicide. I was sixteen and this sort of thing already appealed to me.

The idea of sex had continued to disgust me throughout most of my teenage years, despite my being friends with every older, cooler, sexually active teenager and early twenty-something I could find. My life is the product of an unwanted teen pregnancy and I was in no hurry to get myself involved in anything that could result in the creation of a life as miserable as mine (was). I was your classic bummed out teenager—angry, volatile and “misunderstood.” Everyone ate meat, so I didn’t. Everyone went to church, so I renounced religion. Everyone had sex, so I was abstinent. The girls wore too much makeup and had no substance. The boys were… forgettable at best. I read books and wrote poetry. I went to hardcore shows. I rarely washed my hair or my clothes. I ran my mouth and I got into fights. When I was alone, I cried a lot. I was arrogant and yet so very insecure. Surprise, surprise. To top it all off, I was so fucking horny despite my best efforts to pretend that I wasn’t. A teenage bomb ready to explode. I was just waiting for someone as fucked up as I was to give my “V” card to. That’s when I met Jason (on Myspace).

While AIM chatting late one night, Jason told me that he didn’t want to die a virgin. “Me either,” I thought hopelessly. I tried to laugh it off and said something flippant like “What, are you going to kill yourself or something?” He didn’t respond for a solid five minutes. “Maybe…” and then he signed off. I had long since developed a flair for drama, so naturally I flew into a fit of panic. He’d given me his phone number so I tried calling him over and over to no avail. He lived an hour and a half away from me and I didn’t have a car yet. What could I do? I waited.

About a week later he signed back onto AIM. He told me that he had tried to kill himself but had (obviously) failed. He said that he would try again but that he needed to lose his virginity first. “Virgins never die in horror films,” he said. That made sense to me at the time, but I’d only seen a handful of Hollywood blockbuster horror films, so in hindsight what the fuck did I know? Anyway, I was pretty suicidal myself but had never considered this angle before. I decided right then and there that this was the guy for me. I would either save him from death by fucking him into a state of perpetual bliss (foreshadowing my delusional approach to dating that was to plague me for years and years to come), OR—I would make Death come for him more swiftly. I felt completely sure of something for the first time in my life. I felt like I had a purpose. I felt a swelling in my heart and a sureness in my bones. A longing for love or a lust for death? Either way.

I secured a ride to his house the next morning. I was secretive about the whole thing. I must’ve lied to at least five people, though in my own defense, I felt as if I were being pulled along by some invisible force, lulled into submission by some strange, foreign voice.

Alright, it was just hormones, and nostalgic flamboyance is getting the best of me.

PART 2 — BURST

As I was getting dressed that day, I inspected my body from head to toe. I admired the size of my breasts and the curve of my waist. I put on a black bra and matching black lace panties that I’d stolen from some store in the mall months ago but had not yet worn. I looked in the mirror and told myself that I was a woman and that I was ready. I wasn’t ready. I was ready. I wasn’t ready. I was in love. I was an idiot. I was ready.

We listened to Interpol at first. He undressed me with confidence and ease, a sure look on his face. Jason wasn’t actually a virgin, but by the time I had figured that out, it was too late and I didn’t care. Feelings of bliss and terror washed over me simultaneously as I looked into his strange, dead eyes. He had the decency to ask me if I was sure before he penetrated me. I nodded and smiled nervously, my face dripping with sweat and tears. And just then, as another (foul) person entered my body for the first time, a horrible sound came through the speakers. It lulled placidly in my ears, taking me out of this sacred space and into some horrible world of sonic mediocrity. It was Coldplay, and it ruined everything. My fantasy death-laden romance bubble was shattered, but a new bubble was waiting with open arms.

This bubble was cruel. Suddenly all I could feel was pain and regret. Death seemed familiar to me. A coldness was spreading through me like ice cracking in a slow, straight line. I started crying, and then I started laughing until I realized that nothing was happening anymore. It was over. There was blood between my legs. I dipped my fingers in the tiny pools and smeared the blood around my vaginal gate. That’s when the cruel bubble burst and it was on to the next and ever-lasting bubble; the one in which I currently reside.

This bubble alternates between black, meditative stillness and screaming, strobe-like chaos. There is inexplicable order. I am in and out of control. There is a secret here, a secret that I am in on. Skin becomes water. Bones turn to sand. It’s all the same.

I nestled into this new version of myself and nearly forgot about my faux-virgin lover entirely. I caught a glimpse of his sweating eyes and brought myself back down to his sub-human level. Everything became hilariously simple and brute. My skin felt like skin again. I smiled coolly.

“Do you want to meet death now? Death is between my legs.”

Wax Idols’ Discipline + Desire is out now via Slumberland Records.