The Sex Education of M.E. Page 3

  “Were you looking for a one-night stand?”

  Her face jerked back from my grip and she fumbled. My hand instinctively reached for her waist and manicured nails scratched at my chest to steady herself. The effect rippled through me. She hadn’t answered me.

  “Too bad for your date,” I muttered, my lips twisted in frustration.

  “It wasn’t a date.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes focused on my mouth. Her teeth sneaked a tender bite of her lower lip and the desire to capture that lip with mine flamed uncontrollably.

  “About that date, by that way…” My nose skimmed along her jaw to below her ear. Her breath hitched and I pulled back. “He showed.”

  After giving Gia a huge what-the-hell lecture, I stopped speaking with her. The humiliation was debilitating and I returned home crying over my pathetic needs. Why couldn’t I be like normal people? Why didn’t I have toys to take care of this or just handle it all myself? Those weren’t legitimate questions, though. I wanted sex; the physical connection with another human being. Note, I wasn’t saying emotional connection. I wasn’t a love sick teenager in need of assurance that a man felt the same about me. On the other hand, whoever I finally slept with couldn’t belittle me. I needed someone sensitive enough to accept my body, even if they didn’t care about me. I was pathetic.

  A week passed after my embarrassing encounter at O’Malley’s. I’d given up hope of solving my problem, and I refused to check my MatchMe account. It just wasn’t going to be the way I met someone. I fumbled with groceries while my phone went off in my purse. Scrambling over receipts, loose change, and something unidentifiable, my fingers blindly searched for the phone. I didn’t find it quick enough and the call passed. Finally, setting down the groceries, I checked my phone for messages from Mitzi and Bree.

  As teenagers, they were hardly home. My beautiful brunette, Mitzi, was involved in swimming and coached younger girls for a local swim team. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed Bree starred in most of the school’s plays. Summer freedom left them with less time at home. Other than occasional food refueling and nightly rest stops, the girls worked at a summer day camp. Six weeks of preschool-aged mishaps, middle-grade frustrations, and young teenage antics highlighted stories told on rare nights they were home to have dinner. Summer was always a conflict for me, as I worked the summer session at North East University. I hated leaving the girls alone while I had to work. Mitzi was going to be a senior, while Bree was a sophomore, and having summer jobs made this summer easier.

  My messages showed Mitzi had a date with her boyfriend. Bree planned to meet a group of kids at the movie theatre for a summer blockbuster. The night would be mine. Again. Then I noticed one more text message.

  Need a lift tonight?

  I stared at the gray conversation bubble.

  Merek Elliott. I smiled in spite of myself. Looking around my empty kitchen, I realized I didn’t have any other plans. Maybe I should just be honest with him. Tell him what I wanted. Gia told me that’s how modern women did it. They were open about their bedroom desires. I didn’t think I could ever be open like that. What I had with Nate had been good. We were compatible in the sex department. I’d dare to label it an area we clicked, but there were moments I thought it could have been better. We were pretty missionary. The occasional times we mixed it up seemed fleeting and reckless. Afraid Nate would question my sanity, my morals, or my desires, I never mentioned things I’d like to try. Cursing the memory of Nate finding other means for his sexual adventures, I responded to Merek.

  Sure.

  Well don’t overwhelm me with words, he responded and I laughed out loud.

  O’Malley’s? I offered, dreading the suggestion.

  I was thinking of something more out of the hood.

  Hood? Was he twenty? I lived in a respectable neighborhood of Chicago that was more suburban than some suburbs. A park where all the kids played. A local eatery where the owners knew your name. My hand paused in mid-air, the phone weighing heavily in my hand.

  He suggested a place named NorthSiders, located in Bucktown.

  After responding with the lame, single word: Okay, I called Gia.

  “Am I setting myself up to be ax murdered?” I breathed into the phone. She laughed immediately and I continued on, while sweat trickled under my arms, and my skin chilled despite the evening heat.

  “Or tied up and tortured?” Stress apparent in my tone.

  “Have you been reading again?” she admonished with a tease. “Seriously, why would you ask?”

  “I think I’m getting laid tonight and I need some advice,” I blurted.

  “Well, honey, the long thing sticking out of his body is a penis and it gets inserted into your…”

  “Not that,” I laughed, as she used her nurse tone with me. As if Director of Nursing for Swedish Covenant Hospital wasn’t enough for her, she also taught a basic health course at North East. That’s where we’d met three years ago.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” I breathed heavily.

  “Shower. Shave. Everywhere,” she emphasized.

  “Everywhere?” I choked. She couldn’t be serious. Armpits, check. Legs, check. Landing strip, check.

  “Every. Where,” she stated confidently. “Guys like that,” Her voice teased with schoolgirl excitement.

  “Like shave it?” I choked for clarification.

  “It’s okay. You can say the word va –“

  “I got it,” I interrupted her. “Won’t I cut myself? Something vital? It’s all folded and lumpy down there.” I laughed nervously.

  “Just take your time. Be careful. You’ll be great. He’ll love it,” she assured me. “Bare is the new there,” she added confidently.

  What?

  I wasn’t convinced and risking a Fried Green Tomatoes moment of self-discovery with a mirror between my legs, I decided against it. I didn’t want to assume we’d make it that far on the first night. What would it say about me if we did? Then again, this wasn’t a date. Plus, this wasn’t about his thoughts of me. This was about getting laid with no strings attached. Wasn’t that how the modern dating world worked? Sex friends, or whatever it’s called?

  I readied myself and pulled up near NorthSiders. Parking was difficult on a summer’s evening and I had to turn down a side street, and then look for places that weren’t marked with “permit necessary”. Although I arrived early, the circus of parking made me a few minutes late. My hands shook, and my underarms were moist. The night was warm but not so warm we couldn’t sit out on the patio of the bar.

  Merek sat comfortably, leaning back in a chair, a beer dangling from his hand. I spotted him before he saw me. Thankful in some ways he actually showed, I was well aware this was a pity date when I saw the brilliant smile he flashed the young waitress. She might have been too young for him in my opinion, but she wasn’t too young to notice a good looking man. He was the epitome of casual, in his flip-flops and khaki shorts. He noticed me saunter through the tables, but the waitress remained until I approached.

  “Nice to see you again, Lettie,” he said, reaching out a hand to grip hers lightly. She blushed, and walked away from the table. He stood as soon as I was close enough and reached for my chair, but I already had a hand on the back of it. I wasn’t used to a gentleman, honestly. My late husband hadn’t always been one. It was one of the things that bothered me as time went on. Nate never opened a door without entering it himself first. He might have waited until I sat, but he didn’t hold out my chair, and he never opened the car door for me. It was an annoying fact that he would actually get in the car first, then press the unlock button after I stood in the rain or cold for a minute, while he fumbled to clear the passenger seat. Reminding myself it was disrespectful to curse the dead, I sat across from Merek, who raised his hand to grab the attention of another young thing who was a waitress.

  “Find the place alright?” he asked casually, before sipping from his beer.

  Explaining my parking woes and struggles
with parallel parking, I realized I talked too much, mainly afraid if I stopped I’d shatter. I shook with chill despite the heat, and for some reason, the presence of Merek this night seemed different. Maybe it was because he sat across from me and had a better chance to observe me versus when we sat side by side at O’Malley’s. Maybe it was because the question of sex gnawed at me. He was attentive while I rambled. Then he cut me off.

  “Still registered with MatchMe?” He sat back again, crossing an ankle over his knee. His hair wasn’t long, but it ruffled in the breeze. Flecks of gray never looked so good on a man. Those playful eyes gleamed under the lowering sunlight, and that dimple, my heart raced in a place that needed attention.

  “It’s Gia’s fault. I’m confused when I’m on there,” I explained. “I mean how hard can it be to find a man? No whips, no chains. No spanking, no plugging. No gray ties. No restraints. No flogging necessary. I just want a man to have sex with me.” My hand swiped through my hair. My voice rose then faded as I realized I’d definitely said too much. Swallowing hard, I sat up straighter and reached for my glass of wine.

  “How hard indeed,” he mumbled, before taking another sip of his beer. He raised his hand again, signaling for our waitress, and I was glad he looked away for her attention because unbearable shame washed over me. I lowered my head and rubbed my forehead. I hardly knew this man and I’d just spewed a laundry list of conditions that had no meaning to him.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “That was definitely too much information.”

  “So tell me more about yourself.” He blatantly ignored my apology. I sighed, knowing this was the part I feared. How do you tell someone about the past twenty years of your life? Do you start with college? Do you jump forward to your career and then speak in a reverse timeline about yourself? I wasn’t good at small talk, but I began the boring litany of how I was a college professor of English at NEU. How long I’d worked there, what I liked about the university, and what I’d really wanted to be instead of what I was. Again, it was all too much information.

  “Children?” he asked. That’s where I drew a line. I didn’t want to be defined by my two amazing daughters. Tonight was not about them, and the moment I spoke about their accomplishments, I’d be a mother, instead of a woman having a drink with a man.

  “What about you?” I interjected, hoping to divert our conversation to him.

  “Not much to tell you, my dear,” he smirked, hinting at secrets. He reached for his beer and took another deep sip. His eyes didn’t leave mine.

  “Don’t call me that,” I sputtered, uncertain where the tone came from, but knowing why I didn’t want him to say that endearment.

  “Why not?” He rested an arm along the side of his chair.

  “My husband called me that.”

  “And he’s…”

  “Dead.” The word was definitive, and the cocky smile on Merek’s face fell flat. Nate was gone, and tonight was not about raising his memory, either.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting forward. His hands rubbed together while his elbows rested on his knees. He looked downward for a moment, thoughtful for a second, before sitting upright so quickly it startled me.

  “What would you like to be called instead?” His mouth tweaked slowly.

  “Emme.” I drew out the sound of my name. Mary Elizabeth O’Grady Peters was a mouthful. When I was a child I wanted something more glamorous and I took the nickname Emme for the M and E of my formal name. A second passed before I realized he was flirting with me.

  “I meant as an endearment,” He further twisted the side of his mouth. His tone teased.

  “I always thought baby was sweet, darling, maybe, or love would be nice. You know when men say it in those English accents, it’s just so…” I shivered excitedly then realized I was speaking too much again, and what I said was just garbage spewing from my mouth.

  “Uhm…I don’t actually know what you mean,” he teased.

  “You had an Irish accent the other night.”

  “When I drink too much it slips out, or so I’m told. If I’m that drunk, I don’t know what I’m saying.” He laughed as he finished his beer.

  “So you don’t remember asking to be my Uber?” My eyebrow rose in question. He smiled slowly, like a mischievous child. Then his expression shifted.

  “Husband didn’t say, ‘Sweetheart, I’m home’ each time he entered the house?” His lips smirked.

  Actually, he didn’t do that. In fact, most nights he’d walk in the door and go directly to our room to change out of his suit. He’d come down for dinner and mention his day. He didn’t ask about mine and when I wanted to speak, he was too distracted to listen. Calling me dear had been Nate’s patronizing way of dismissing me. Other tender terms were out of the question. The memory hit me hard, and the guilt at the negativity made me feel like a bad person. The memory caught up to me and my eyes filled with liquid.

  “Don’t mind me.” I waved a hand dismissively. Crying before sex would certainly make an impression, but I already convinced myself I’d dug enough of a hole that I’d never see Merek naked or again.

  “I’m just a silly, frustrated woman.” Blinking rapidly, I took another sip of my second wine. The taste was suddenly bitter and I understood why MatchMe had timed arrangements. I was so awkward, even I wanted to get away from me in fifteen minutes or less.

  Merek sat forward again, his hands clasped as his elbows braced on his knees.

  “Want to finish that?” he offered, nodding in the direction of my wine. The dismissal evident. Merek really was finished with me.

  “I’m good,” I said, and his head shot up to stare at me for a long moment. Dark eyes danced while the slight lines of skin around them crinkled. My stomach fluttered. His good looks left me breathless. For the millionth time, I wondered if his lips would be tender or rough.

  He stood abruptly, dropped two twenties on the table, and I followed him. As we sauntered through the tables, making our way through the main restaurant area to the front door, an older gentleman smiled at me. Noticeably older with full onset white hair and over-tanned skin, he muttered “Lucky man” as we passed him and Merek’s hand made contact with my lower back. I always thought this touch was a tender show of possessiveness. If only that were true with Merek. I smiled kindly in response to the elder man’s comment. It was sweet, but deflating. He was exactly the type of man I attracted. Older.

  Suddenly feeling ancient, I prepared to part ways with Merek.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked and I pointed in the general direction of the side street.

  “I’ll walk you,” he offered. Raising a hand, I decided to end the misery of my evening.

  “I’ve got it. Thanks for the drink.” Awkward once again, I didn’t know whether to stick out a hand to shake his or to reach in for an air hug. Instead, I did neither. I just pointed over my shoulder, motioning the direction of my car. I turned and took a step when his hand hit my back again.

  “I said, I’ll walk with you. I’m going that way, anyway.”

  I was convinced, she didn’t see what I saw. While she wasn’t young like my typical partners, she was something. Drawn to her, I wasn’t ready to let her go. In fact, my curiosity was piqued. She rattled off her list of hard limits, and I nearly lost it in my shorts as the list continued. I wouldn’t admit whether I’d practiced most of what she listed, but the mere idea that someone sweet looking in a yellow sundress knew what most of those things were, was shocking.

  To say she seemed innocent was an overstatement. If I had to guess, nerves made her ramble. I’d learned from Todd that her husband had been dead for a year, but I’d forgotten in the playfulness of calling her “my dear.” The expression of confusion at the term twisted to a hint of hurt and I cursed myself for asking about him. I didn’t want her to think of someone else when she sat across from me, especially someone who evidently caused her pain. It was one of the reasons I preferred the younger, unattached girls. No ex-husband or deceased one to c
ontend with from the past. Occasionally, an old lover, maybe an ex-boyfriend, but that’s where I came into play. I relieved the memory. Young, free, and emotionally unavailable – that’s how I liked them.

  Emme was definitely emotional. It didn’t escape me that her eyes filled with tears and her sad expression chipped at my heart. Her openness was refreshing, but inside her was a closed up woman. Frustrated, that had been her word. A plan slowly formed in my mind, but I couldn’t get a read on how receptive she’d be to it. This wasn’t some MatchMe arrangement I planned to present to her. This was more.

  We walked in silence down the side street. The irony of the location wasn’t lost on me. She had parked in front of the apartment. I had two choices here: a road well-traveled would mean saying goodnight and never thinking of her again, but the unchartered path intrigued me. When she stopped on the sidewalk, midway between the apartment entrance and a parked car, she spun toward me. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak, I cut her off.

  “I’d like to make a proposal.” Her blue eyes twinkled. The bright reflection of the setting sun softened the blue.

  “I wonder, if you’d come inside?” My hand directed her attention to the building on my right. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before opening wide.

  “You’re not an ax-murderer, are you?” she blurted. Her face turned a sweet shade of pink, highlighting her subtle tan.

  “Last time I checked, no,” I smirked. “I also don’t do whips, chains, spanking, or plugging. I don’t own any gray ties. No restraints. No flogger either. Did I miss anything?”

  Her eyes opened wider, if that were possible, and then she laughed. My heart melted.