The Sex Education of M.E. Read online

  “We were so young,” Rod stated, a bemused look on his face as he pushed his Praram Chicken from side to side on the dish. “You were so beautiful,” he said quietly before his head shot up. “You still are. Beautiful, that is,” he offered with a smile, and it warmed my insides to be complimented. Nate hadn’t been the complimenting type.

  Maybe I could do this. Sweet talk and a nice smile could lead places, right? But thoughts of fresh fruit innuendos and the moans of desire outweighed what sat before me. Rod was safe ground, if I wanted to step back into the past. Merek was an unchartered path, if I wished to hike forward.

  “Thank you. I remember you being beautiful then, too,” I laughed. He had been beautiful: sandy blond hair, green eyes and a tempting smile on a solid, growing body. Rod looked at me with held breath before I added, “And, of course, you’re still very attractive now.” He exhaled at the comment, smiled sheepishly, and returned to his chicken. And that was the end of the flirting. It hit me like the glass of ice water before me. I didn’t want to go backward. My relationship with Nate had been one of awkward flirtation in the beginning. While I couldn’t recall with clarity what that was like, I knew we had to have begun somewhere. Through time our relationship grew to one of comfort. We were compatible and structured. Being with someone like Rod would be similar to Nate. A spark that fizzled instead of a flame that burned hot. Merek was a flame. More like a bonfire, and I wished to dance around the potential inferno. That was a risk I longed to take.

  A sudden bout of stomach over-activity from chicken ginger was the excuse I used, and asked Rod to cut our date short. I was surprised when he did, and then asked for a second date.

  Dammit. My phone died. And she had a date. The wanker in a suit was probably heading for her panties after I’d opened the flood gates, and it pissed me off. Tempted to throw my phone in the lake, I accelerated back to Montrose Harbor. I hoped she’d say yes and I’d meet her at the Sheridan Shore Yacht Club, but she had a damn date. She didn't give off the impression she wanted a date. She said she wanted sex, but then again, that’s why she was in O’Malley’s that first night. She thought she was meeting someone.

  I didn’t do dates. It was too complicated. I don’t know why I went that night, but there was something about Emme that intrigued me. A boat ride was the perfect excuse to see her again. Also, it would prevent her from running, and we could finish what we had started nights ago. But she had a fucking date.

  Returning to Montrose Harbor, I pulled into the boat slip, focusing on the task at hand. I tied the boat to the dock, hosed off the bow, and replaced the canvas covering. Owning this boat and securing this coveted slip had been a dream come true for my brother and me. With the death of our father, years ago, we used the money for something he always wanted: a boat on the lake and a space in Montrose Harbor. It wasn't really my thing, the prestige of being here, but my younger brother, Marshall, wanted the image. It fit his growing need to prove himself as more than a fireman's kid. He didn't want the labor involved with being a civil servant and having a side job in a trade, as many Chicago firemen did. As our father had done, being a plumber.

  I swallowed my disappointment and headed for my truck. Marshall had been out of town the past week. His availability was limited. He played the bachelor more than me, and his climb to the top of the financial establishment he worked for prevented him from any formal commitment. The boat was a networking investment he argued when he convinced me to purchase it with him. The thing he was missing in his prestigious ladder-to-the-top was a better apartment, but it served its purpose for him and me. A text from him flashed on my phone, as if he sensed my thoughts of him.

  - You available?

  - Heading to Bruno’s.

  - I’ll meet you there.

  Bruno’s was a dive bar off Wilson Avenue. It was a throwback to our firemen connections as many of the men we might find there were from the firehouse nearby, which had been our father’s command post when he was alive. Old friends considered family returned often.

  “What’s up, man?” Marshall greeted, handing me a beer before I even sat. My younger brother was my opposite. While my hair shifted to salt and pepper, Marshall’s hair remained a rusty red, from a bottle, with a touch-up every three weeks. It countered his deep blue eyes, and gave him a youthful look. My brother delayed growing into a man, even more than me.

  “Just returned from China. My time schedule is so off.” He took a long pull from his beer. His hands looked manicured, so opposite mine which were thick and roughed from work. His lips twisted in concentration, and my eyes narrowed at him.

  “What’s going on?” I questioned. My brother was an open book. Marshall ran a hand through those thick reddish locks.

  “Bridget wants to get married.”

  “Who’s Bridget, again?” I teased. My brother had so many conquests it was hard to keep up. He topped me and keeping straight who was who in his list of weekly arrangements provided good fodder. Bridget McMahon was a name I recognized, however. Dark-haired, wild girl who was the daughter of one of our lifelong family friends. She was from the old neighborhood. An Irish Catholic girl who grew up down the block from our parents’ home.

  “She’s the one I got pregnant,” he stated plainly. The bottle coming to my lips froze in mid-air.

  “What?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Is it yours?” I blurted and instantly regretted it. Bridget had been crazy for my brother for years when we were younger. She’d been married and divorced with children, much to her parents’ dismay. Recently, a relationship of sorts rekindled between Marshall and Bridge, her childhood nickname, which gave me the idea to proposition Emme. Marshall and Bridge had an arrangement where a simple phone call was all they needed. The Bat Signal, Marshall joked. It meant I’m horny; I need assistance. Despite the teasing of my brother, I questioned the possibility of growing emotions between Marshall and Bridge. They had history, compared to the random pick-ups in bars and hook-ups from MatchMe that I dealt with. Over time, I questioned if the arrangement meant more to him than he let on. A baby changed everything, especially at thirty-five years old. My heart dropped. The pain on my brother’s face proved my words hurt.

  “I’m sorry, man. Of course, it’s yours.”

  His hand worked faster through his hair. If he kept it up, he’d have more than coloring to worry about; he’d suddenly have hair loss.

  “What am I going to do?” His blue eyes questioned mine, and for a moment, he was the little pest following me around when I was a teen.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I shuddered at the thought of a child at my age. Marshall and Bridget weren’t kids. They needed to be responsible adults.

  “You want the kid, right?” I stared at him, willing him to answer in affirmation. This wasn’t a joke to me, this was life. He needed to respect that.

  “Of course,” he said. “I think… I mean, yes.” He exhaled then inhaled deeply and sat up straighter.

  “Then marry her,” I said, as if that resolved the issue.

  “I can’t marry her. I’m not the marrying type. I like the freedom to roam,” he quipped.

  “Well, you should have thought of that before you tapped it uncovered,” I snipped, raising an eyebrow at his stupidity.

  “I wasn’t uncovered. It ripped.”

  The noise of Bruno’s filled the silence.

  “How the fuck do we get into these messes?” He shook his head before his eyes darted up to me. “I didn’t mean that,” he added.

  “Yes, you did.” I smiled weakly. “And it happens because you can’t keep your dick in your pants. And neither could I. Be thankful you aren’t a kid yourself, though.” I tipped my beer at him before taking a long pull to drown out memories I didn’t wish to discuss. Marshall knew all my secrets, anyway.

  “I don’t want to grow up,” he pouted, and the little boy image flashed again. I laughed.

  “Too b
ad. At some time, you have to bite the commitment bullet.”

  “Oh yeah, and when will you do that?” he chuckled.

  “Never gonna happen again,” I smirked.

  “I noticed you had someone at the apartment,” he stated, eying me over the lip of his beer.

  “How’d you know that?” I barked, thinking back to any evidence after Emme left me.

  “The expression on your face just admitted it,” he laughed.

  “That…that was nothing,” I lied. “Like I said, never gonna happen.”

  “You never bring people to the apartment.” He teased. He was correct. I didn’t, as a rule, bring women there. I went to them, so I could leave, or we used the convenience of wherever we were located.

  “I’m not having this conversation. So I brought someone there. Once.”

  “You want to bring her again, though?” he questioned, and I hardened my face, hoping to hide any expression of guilt. I did want Emme to return.

  “How did this conversation turn to me?”

  “We were talking commitment,” he laughed. My eyes narrowed at him. There was no way he could know about Emme. Then I blinked in shock. Her name crossing my mind startled me. She had a date. She walked away. She didn’t want my proposal. I didn’t do commitment, regardless. That’s why I propositioned her.

  “Never gonna happen.”

  “Wanna bet? Cubs tickets say it’s gonna happen.”

  “You’re on. Cubs tickets. I want a nice sunny day game in September. I look forward to the box.”

  My brother’s company owned a box that could be reserved for personal events. If I did lose, bleacher seats would be the place I could afford. I didn’t worry about losing.

  “You need to call him,” Gia encouraged, waving my phone at me.

  “He made himself perfectly clear, Gia. I had a date and that was a signal he wanted nothing more to do with me.”

  “That’s not true,” she said, reaching for her glass of wine as we sat on my back deck. The night was warm and the girls were gone again. Gia’s ex had the kids for a few hours, and she took a breather to be an adult, as she liked to call it. She was only in her early thirties but the age difference didn’t matter to either of us. At some point, being a mother halted all barriers of age discrepancy and bound women to each other.

  “Explain to me how you know this about Merek. And again, how you got him to show up at O’Malley’s?” My lips twisted as I shook my head. “Look, I know you’re a pro at this dating thing, but I’m not so ancient I can’t read a sign.”

  “Can you just trust me on this? You have to proposition the man, nowadays. Just text him. If he doesn’t respond, I promise, I’ll stop hounding and go back to MatchMe. You have like thirty requests.”

  “I do?” My eyes shot wide. It was obvious Rod was interested, he’d asked me out again. But I couldn’t imagine who else would want to date me. Then I remembered the site was full of predators and those looking for cougars (older women who craved younger men) and those with MILF obsessions (younger men looking for mother types).

  “Yes, you do. Emme, how many times do I have to tell you, you’re a beautiful woman. You have a great personality. You’re funny. Don’t let whatever it is that keeps you down, keep you down.”

  Gia knew Nate wasn’t always forthcoming with compliments or affection. The lack of attention over twenty years proved a subtle assault on my self-esteem. I couldn’t imagine who would be interested in a forty-something with two kids and a mortgage.

  “You know what?” I reached for my phone in Gia’s hand. “I’ll text him just to prove he isn’t going to respond.”

  - I want a ride.

  “There.” I showed Gia the message. “He isn’t going to…” Aimed toward Gia, the phone pinged with a response. She choked on her wine. Flipping the phone to face me, I read the reply.

  - I’d love to drive you.

  Oh, my God, I mouthed to Gia. Her eyes danced as she waved for me to respond.

  “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “You say, Now. Yes, now.” Her eyes started fluttering. “Oh, yeah, now. Right there…”

  “Okay, I got it.” I laughed, raising my hand to stop further description. My fingers shook as I typed three simple letters. N.O.W.

  The following text was the address of the apartment where we previously went.

  To say I was nervous was an understatement. Was I taking the risk of a lifetime? In the grand scheme of life, no. A risk with my body? In many ways, yes, but I tingled all over at the thought. A risk with my heart? My head overruled.

  “Don’t overthink,” Gia warned me.

  “He’ll only go as far as you want,” she encouraged.

  “This isn’t love,” she snorted. “This is lust.”

  She was correct on all accounts. Even though I hardly knew him, I trusted Merek. This was Sex Ed 101. My body was out of control and I wanted the touch of a man. I could do this, I pep talked.

  Finally stepping out of my car, Merek waited for me on the front steps outside the apartment building. In typical Chicago style, the two-flat looked like a house, raised several steps above ground level. There were two entrances as soon as you entered the front door. Merek’s place was on the second floor. A city home, the surrounding houses were similar in fashion. The cookie cutter line-up was slightly different from the neighborhood I lived in.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind,” he smiled slowly. The golden spark to his eyes made my heart race.

  “If we’re going to stand on the stoop, I might,” I giggled. Sweat trickled under my arms and my hands shook. He reached for me and I stumbled as he tugged me forward, teasingly, to rush us inside. He slowed as we climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment. Stopping before the door, he spun to face me.

  “We’ll only go as far as you want.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, “but I’m going to admit, I’m hoping it’s far. I like long drives.”

  I laughed. His flirting shattered some of my nerves. Still holding my hand, we entered the apartment and he led me to the couch.

  “Drink,” he offered. He crossed behind the couch and returned with two glasses of wine. Mine was pink; his was red.

  “White zinfandel?” I questioned. “You remembered what I ordered?” His mouth curved slowly, rolling up on one side, then the other followed, like he had a secret he wanted to tell, but the smile hid it. He didn’t answer my question, just watched me over the rim of his glass.

  “So how do we do this?” Nerves caught up to me again as he sat next to me on the couch. How did one jump into sex? It wasn’t like we’d been on a date first where I was plied with wine, laughter and the occasional compliment. My date with Rod certainly didn’t lead there.

  “Slow down,” he smirked, placing the glass on the table beside him. His hand landed on my thigh as his body twisted toward me.

  “Tell me about your date.” His husky voice was not the tone I’d expect for such a question. I swallowed hard.

  “Why do you want to know about that?” I squeaked as his hand slid up and down my skirted thigh. The material slowly danced back and forth with each stroke.

  “I’m curious about it.” His tone lowered, his words directed at the attention to my thigh. He stopped abruptly and reached for my hand instead. Turning it over, he rubbed his palm over mine, caressing my wrist, and then dragging the calloused pads of his fingertips back over my sensitive palm. One digit drew along the creased lines in my skin.

  “Why?” My eyes followed the motion. He spread his fingers to slide between mine briefly, then returned to stroking each one.

  “Tell me.” Clasping them together, he raised our hands and kissed my knuckles.

  “Rod is an old friend,” I began. “I knew him as a teenager.”

  “Rod?” he choked. “Like nimrod,” he muttered. Flipping our combined palms, his lips lingered and his mouth sucked tenderly on the flat of my hand.

  “That’s not nice.” I stifled
a laugh, distracted by his mouth.

  “Sorry. So how well did you know Rod? Are you familiar with Rod’s rod?” His voice was still low, but not threatening.

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  His mouth stopped. His eyes searched mine. His chin tipped.

  “Did you get reacquainted with Rod’s rod?” His tone roughened. His fingers closed around mine again, and he twisted my arm to expose my wrist. His mouth met the tender skin. He sucked gently, his tongue darting forward and caressing the delicate veins. He lapped lightly and my breath hitched.

  “Nothing happened the other night,” I breathed. “In fact, I went home early.” His eyes shot up to mine.

  “That good, huh?” He chuckled. His lips continued to serenade my arm with kisses, dotting a path to my elbow.

  “It was fine.” I exhaled slowly, trying to concentrate on the conversation but completely distracted by the movement of his mouth.

  “That’s a word I never want you to use with me.” The playful edge disappeared from his tone. His tender attention stopped and I instantly missed it. His touch soothed, distracted, and if it’s possible to be turned on by fingers petting and unique kisses, I wasn’t going to make it past first base with this man. Moisture pooled between my legs and I didn’t dare rub my thighs as they already touched. The slightest movement would only increase my excitement.

  “Okay.” My voice was so low I wasn’t certain any sound escaped my mouth. His lips brushed against my shoulder. My eyes closed under the weight of his kisses.