By Evan Shumka
Content warning: Sexual content involving bees.
Rox huffed and puffed like a virgin as they pedalled their childhood bicycle up the steep farm road. Their thighs burned like a virgin, and their nose itched with virginal hay fever. Rox even sneezed like a virgin.
Up ahead, a tractor came down the hill, taking up most of the road. The man driving it did a double take as he puttered past. Rox was an unusual sight with their dyed pink-and-blue buzz cut, torn-up muscle shirt, and denim short shorts. They looked like a circus bear bent over their tiny bicycle, complete with basket, tassels, and training wheels. Rox gave the farmer a masculine nod, which the farmer returned.
At twenty-one, Rox had done little that even the most conservative of judges would consider sexual: a few chaste kisses, a hand-hold, and some light touching exclusively above the collarbone. For Rox, this simply would not do. There was a nagging sensation in their gut—and yes, maybe a bit lower too—that the last sexy train was leaving and they had to hop on board pronto, or risk being tossed into some kind of proverbial volcano.
It had all become clear in a moment of drunken clarity at three A.M. on their birthday: if they let another year go by without having sex, this restrictive state of virginitude would become permanent. In their alcoholic fervour, Rox had snapped a few sexy pics, thrown together a Bumble account, and swiped through everyone within a thirty-kilometre radius before passing out.
The following afternoon, they’d woken up to a pounding headache and a hazy recollection of their epiphany from the night before. They opened their phone and took a sober look at what they’d done.
Rox, 21 (they/them)
Sexual novice looking to ditch the ’ginity. Hit me up.
Rox was mortified. The photos verged on pornographic. They were about to delete the account when they noticed they already had ten matches and decided to at least check out what kinds of people had swiped back on their spicy profile.
The first two were obvious catfish. The third was a literal photo of a catfish. But the fourth profile was of someone in a beekeeping outfit, her face hardly visible behind the dark veil.
Heather, 25 (she/her)
I’m a beekeeper new to the area hoping to connect :)
Bees.
As a kid, Rox had been afraid of bees. The last time they’d gotten stung, their hand had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe.
Rox went through Heather’s other photos. She was hidden behind her full beekeeper getup in each one, but there was something sexy and mysterious about that. Anything could be under that suit. It filled Rox with curiosity, and they remembered a dark hollow in a tree trunk, and the powerful urge to reach inside and see what it contained. What could be hotter than the unknown? Of course, it occurred to Rox that they were just horny—a feeling which only increased when they saw that Heather had already messaged them.
I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two
Rox re-read the text a few times and felt their heart rate double. This could be it. This Heather person wanted them. The knowledge of it was overwhelming. Rox tried to stay calm as they trimmed their nails extra short and filed them smooth in case things got serious. They made themselves wait a full hour before replying.
about sex or bees?
As they waited for a response, Rox binged bee documentaries on their phone. After two hours, there was still nothing. Maybe they’d gotten ahead of themselves. They kept checking their notifications, worrying that they’d been too forward, or not forward enough. The only thing they retained from the documentaries was the image of a hornet being cooked alive by a mass of buzzy, vibrating bodies. It seemed that Rox’s flirtatious encounter with Heather had ended before it had even begun. But then, a day later, she replied.
Both
Oh yeah. It was so on.
Rox went back and forth with Heather over the rest of the week. They were pretty sure she wasn’t a human trafficker or a serial killer, so when Heather invited Rox over to meet at her house, Rox agreed.
The only problem was that Rox didn’t have a driver’s license, and even if they did, their parents wouldn’t have agreed to lend them the car for the sake of facilitating a sexual escapade with a stranger. Plus, public transport was virtually non-existent in the valley, leaving Rox with only one option for reaching their sexy destination.
Which is how they now found themselves leaning against the handlebars of their tiny bicycle, gasping for breath in the sweltering summer heat.
They squinted at Google Maps, wiping the sweat out of their eyes. They’d been biking for an hour but still had a ways to go. Their shirt stuck to their skin and made them itchy. On top of that, some of their fingernails were now ingrown, which made gripping the handlebars painful. They took a moment to catch their breath and get a lay of the land. Rolling green fields spread out on either side of the road. Cows clustered in the shade of a tree. The blue mountains loomed large, and above them, cushiony clouds drifted along, lending depth to the expansive sky. There were worse places for losing one’s V-card.
Between the fatigue and the arousal, Rox thought for sure they’d pass out. They tried telling themselves nothing sexual was going to happen. They were just going to learn about beekeeping. No need to get excited. But every bit of their biology knew better.
After another twenty minutes of hard riding, Rox made it to the beekeeper’s property. The address was marked on a boulder by the mossy, wooden fence. Rox pushed their bike up the long driveway towards the farmhouse. Gravel crackled under the wheels. Rox snooped around, feeling like a trespasser.
It was a big property, with wide open flowery meadows, dotted here and there with brightly painted boxes, each a bold splash of colour against the green landscape. The air hummed as bees buzzed by. Rox winced as one darted past their ear.
The door to the farmhouse hung open, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Rox stopped in the middle of the driveway and double-checked the address on their phone. When they glanced up again, they saw the beekeeper coming around the house, dressed in her bulky, white outfit. She waved at Rox, like an astronaut on the moon waving at Earth. Rox held their breath as the beekeeper walked up and removed her veil.
She was absurdly gorgeous.
Her face seemed familiar—not because Rox had ever seen her before, but because there was something so open about her. She seemed like the kind of person who would change your tire or remove a sliver from your toe. Her face was swarming with freckles, which made her sage green eyes pop. Locks of curly brown hair were pasted to her forehead by sweat. She wasn’t drenched like Rox. More like she’d been spritzed with a fine mist, like fresh fruit at the grocery store, just enough to make her glow.
Rox tried to say hi, but let out a loud, disgusting sneeze instead.
“Bless you,” said the beekeeper.
“You too,” said Rox. “I mean—thanks.”
They wiped their nose on their shirt and caught a whiff of their sweaty pits. Rox could’ve sworn they saw a flower wilt.
“Did you ride here?” asked the beekeeper.
Rox looked down at the bicycle with its sparkly tassels and training wheels.
“It wasn’t far,” said Rox, trying to sound casual.
The beekeeper cracked a smile.
A bee flew at Rox’s face and they tried not to flinch in case it might offend the beekeeper.
“So,” said Rox. “You’re Heather?”
“Yeah,” said the beekeeper. “And it’s Rox, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like you could use a glass of water, Rox.”
“Nah, I’m good.” But as soon as Rox said it, their mouth felt dry. They licked their chapped lips and regretted not bringing lip balm.
“Are you sure about that?” asked the beekeeper.
“Actually, I would like some water, thank you.”
The beekeeper led them up to the house. Rox leaned their bicycle against the deck and climbed up the stairs, stopping before the doorway.
“I can help you take those training wheels off if you want,” said the beekeeper as she entered the house. Rox wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a euphemism.
“Are you saying you wanna go for a ride?” they asked, but by then Rox could hear the tap running and figured that the beekeeper hadn’t heard. Probably for the best. Rox missed the extra time that flirting over text allowed.
They stood awkwardly on the deck, watching bees flit through the open door at their leisure. To the left of the door was a swinging deck chair suspended from the roof by chains. The chair swayed gently in the breeze. Rox wanted to sit down and rest after their long ride, but not without an invitation. The beekeeper returned with a tall glass of water and gave it to Rox.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
Rox shook their head and chugged the water in one go, watching the beekeeper smile through the bottom of the glass.
“Thank you,” said Rox, handing it back.
“I’m just gonna go take this stuff off,” said the beekeeper. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared inside again. A bee flew in after her.
Rox was unsure whether “make yourself comfortable” meant to come inside or sit on the fragile-looking deck chair, so they stayed hovering by the entrance. They peeked through the door and wondered if the beekeeper was going to come back out totally naked, then reminded themselves that this was not a porno.
There were just as many bees buzzing around inside as outside. The hum in the air was constant, and every prickling sensation of drying sweat felt like a bee crawling over Rox’s skin. They breathed out slow. They’d come too far to let their childhood fear get in the way of their mission now. Rox was resolute: this would be their last day as a virgin.
The beekeeper returned—still clothed. She had a tank top and a pair of very-wide-waisted jeans held up by suspenders. The pants were enormous. Rox could’ve easily fit inside with her.
“Whoa,” said Rox. “Nice, uh… pants.”
The beekeeper seemed embarrassed and Rox felt bad.
“Your boobs look great in that tank,” they added.
“Oh, thanks,” said the beekeeper, glancing down like she’d forgotten about them.
A loose whirlwind of bees hung around the beekeeper, who didn’t seem at all bothered by them.
“You’re not afraid of bees, are you?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Just not used to them,” said Rox.
“They’re actually really docile. You just have to stay calm around them.”
Rox tried to keep completely still as the bees buzzed past their face. The hum in the air had grown louder and Rox tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. The painted beehive boxes were all too far away to be the source of the humming. The beekeeper gazed into Rox’s eyes.
Now that Rox was here, it wasn’t altogether clear how they were supposed to proceed. They hadn’t thought farther ahead than showing up, and had expected the more experienced beekeeper to take the lead. But instead, they both just stood on either side of the threshold making intermittent eye contact and smiling awkwardly at each other. Rox was going to have to make the first move.
“So,” said Rox. “Sex?”
“Right,” said the beekeeper. “Sex.” She did a half-turn, looking puzzled for a second before saying, “Um, did you want to do it out here?”
“On the deck?” said Rox.
“It’s too nice out to be cooped up inside,” said the beekeeper. “And no one really goes by. Plus, we’re too far up the road for anyone to see if they did. I mean, it’s up to you.”
Rox wondered if the beekeeper was an exhibitionist. They had pictured someplace more private and conventional, like a bedroom, but this was a day of trying new things and Rox didn’t want to disappoint their attractive and obliging host.
They did a quick scan of the road and the surrounding fields. There wasn’t so much as a cow to peep on them out here. They were alone.
“Okay,” said Rox.
Their legs felt weak and their heart pounded as they followed the beekeeper over to the swinging deck chair. The whirlwind of bees seemed to move with them. As the beekeeper made to sit, a bee flew right down her pants.
“Wait!” said Rox, bracing.
“What?” said the beekeeper, her massive pants deflating against the seat as she sat down. No sting. No shriek.
“I thought—” said Rox. “Nothing.”
Maybe they’d imagined it. They could hardly see through the sweat in their eyes. But there was still that humming sound. It was louder now.
The chair was wide like a bench, with floral cushions on the seat. The beekeeper patted the spot next to her. Rox eyed the precarious structure.
“We’re not gonna break that, are we?” they asked.
“We’ll be gentle,” said the beekeeper. “It’s your first time, right?”
“Yeah,” said Rox, their arms hanging awkwardly at their sides.
They sat down beside the beekeeper. The bench swung back and forth. Rox’s heart hammered away and a shiver went down their legs. The beekeeper smiled and scooched in closer so their thighs touched. The hum got louder. Rox was certain now that the sound was coming from inside the pants.
“So, um,” said Rox, “how do you wanna—?”
The beekeeper reached out and cupped Rox’s cheek with her gentle, calloused hand. She leaned in and kissed Rox’s lips.
This was as far as Rox had ever gotten before, and fortunately, they knew more or less what they were doing when it came to kissing. The familiarity of the action was reassuring. But even over the wet sounds of lips smacking and blood pumping in their ears, Rox could still detect the mysterious humming.
The beekeeper disengaged from Rox’s lips and said, “May I?” Her hand hovered over Rox’s fly.
Rox nodded with gusto and struggled to unbutton their short shorts.
“It’s okay, I got it,” said the beekeeper, brushing their hand aside and deftly unfastening the shorts. She slipped down between Rox’s legs and got to work.
It was finally happening. Rox couldn’t believe it. They could almost feel their virginity washing away like warm water over their skin.
They looked down at the beekeeper’s pants and breathlessly requested admission.
“Do it slowly,” whispered the beekeeper, her gentle lips grazing Rox’s neck.
Rox closed their eyes and slid their hand into the beekeeper’s gargantuan pants. As they reached inside, they felt the beekeeper’s smooth skin turn—waxy. They felt a tickle and a frustrated buzz. A sensation like falling came over them and they drew back their hand, opening their eyes
“Are you okay?” asked the beekeeper, halting her work in Rox’s underwear.
Rox gaped at the pants. They slowly lifted up the beekeeper’s waistband and took a peek below.
It was all bees down there.
Heaps of them bumbling around with their pulsating abdomens and fuzzy bodies, whizzing in and out, buzzing. The beekeeper was crawling with them. Layers upon bustling layers. A whole hive, just going about its business in the dark of the beekeeper’s pants.
“Do you want to stop?” asked the beekeeper.
Rox’s heart pounded. The hum reverberated in their ears. Fear wriggled inside them, and their hand tingled with pins and needles. But they were too close—right on the verge of losing their pesky virginity. They didn’t want to stop. As long as Rox’s horniness was stronger than their fear, they could do it.
Rox shook their head and reached back down into the beekeeper’s pants. They just had to stay calm and the bees would remain docile. Rox ran their fingers down the beekeeper’s waxy terrain, hesitating at every angry buzz that vibrated up their arm.
They couldn’t focus on the wonderful things that the beekeeper was doing to their own body. Rox wasn’t even there anymore. They were climbing a tree, peering into the dark hollow stretching deep into the trunk. They could hear the enticing hum and wanted so badly to reach inside.
Rox delved deeper into the beekeeper’s strange territory, searching for any familiar structures. But there was only honeycomb. They could feel the little hexagonal cells beneath their fingertips. It was getting stickier down there, and the bees seemed to be getting progressively more upset. Rox felt like they had to try something soon before the bees started stinging. They slid a finger into one of the cells. The beekeeper arched back and sighed.
“Oh, right there—you’re a natural.”
“Are you sure?” asked Rox.
She gasped, “I’m sure.”
While the beekeeper seemed to like what Rox was doing, the bees were working themselves up into a frenzy. They swarmed Rox’s hand and vibrated, generating heat. Rox recalled the video of the hornet being roasted alive, engulfed by the inescapable flood of bees. The buzzing was so loud that Rox could feel it in the base of their skull. Their hand was on fire. The bees were going crazy. Rox was back up the tree, darkness closing around their hand as they reached—reached into the humming hollow.
They felt the stings in quick succession.
Zap—zap—zap!
Searing pain pumped through their hand in excruciating waves.
They fell out of the tree.
They ripped their hand out of the beekeeper’s pants and leapt out of the deck chair, sprinting off into the field, trying to outrun the bees all over their hand. Their undone shorts tangled around their ankles, and they went down, face first into the grass.
They rolled over onto their back, dazed. They stared up at the magnificent blue sky. Clouds materialized above, resembling snow-capped mountains. The adrenaline subsided. Rox held up their hand against the sun. It was dripping with golden honey, but there was no pain, no swelling, no bees.
Heather ran over to them.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I’m so sorry—did you get stung?”
“No,” said Rox. “Just got freaked out. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything else.”
“I just need a minute,” said Rox.
Heather stood over them, looking fretful, then sat down, keeping some distance between the two of them. The bees buzzed sluggishly overhead, paying Rox no mind as they meandered among the flowers.
“When I was a kid,” said Rox, “I climbed up this tree at my oma’s house. There was a hollow in the trunk. I reached inside and didn’t realize there was a beehive in there until they stung me. I fell out and broke my collarbone.”
“That must have been scary,” said Heather.
Rox shrugged. It had been terrifying. But they were a kid then. It seemed silly to still be afraid now.
They were both quiet for a while. The clouds kept shifting above them. The only sound was the quiet hum of bees in Heather’s pants. Rox absently licked the honey off their fingers, then stopped as they remembered where it had come from. They hoped Heather hadn’t noticed.
“I should’ve warned you,” said Heather. “I’m just insecure about it. And I was really excited to—do that with you. It’s a bit intense for your first time, though. I’m sorry.”
Rox was curious about whether Heather had always had a hive but didn’t ask.
“I guess I thought it would be simpler,” said Rox. “Losing my virginity. Everyone does it. How hard can it be?”
A gentle breeze swept through the grass and made Rox sneeze.
“You know, there’s really no such thing as virginity,” said Heather. “It’s different every time. I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never done it with you. It’s a whole new thing to figure out.”
The sun shone on Heather’s freckled face. Her legs were crossed, hands resting in her lap. All around was golden-green grass and mountains, and the summer sky. Rox thought about what an interesting person Heather was, with her farmhouse and her bees. There might not be anyone else like her in the world.
Maybe there really was no such thing as virginity. Maybe first times didn’t matter all that much. But either way, Rox wanted their first time to be with her.
“Do you have one of those smoker things?” asked Rox.
“I don’t normally use it, but yeah,” said Heather. “Why?”
“Do you think that would help?”
Heather chuckled, then considered. “We could try it,” she said.
“Is next week okay?” asked Rox.
Heather smiled. “I’ll be here.”
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