I texted Rob. Hey, come by my place tomorrow and bring your paint eq. We can paint each other.
The next day I gave Rob a long kiss and let him into the apartment. I wasn’t sure how the day was going to progress, but my goal from the moment Rob walked through the door was to lose my virginity.
“Why don’t you paint me first,” I said as I handed him a mug of coffee. “Whatever you have in mind,” I added, hoping that he would get the message that if he wanted to paint me nude I would be up for that.
I guess it was a reach, but I had no experience and pretty much did what I always did: Hoped that instinct and luck would make it work.
“Great. Why don’t you lie down on the couch, and I’ll set up over here.” I lay back on the couch as he set up his easel and canvas. He looked at me as I got comfortable. I pulled a pillow next to the arm of the sofa and lay my head on it. I then dropped my right leg to the floor while my left leg stretched out. I put on hand on my right thigh while my left hand rested on my left breast.
Going through the process of seducing Rob turned out to be awkward and awful. I knew I had a sexy body, and I knew I was pretty. I mean I had the raw materials, right? How hard could it be?
He pulled out a pencil and started doing the preliminary sketch. My hope that he would ask me to take my clothes off was the first indication that this wasn’t going to be a grand seduction.
“Hey, nothing too complicated, I don’t want to sit here all day,” I said after about five minutes. After about ten minutes I noticed he was still sketching. I knew how Rob worked, and he was a fast and excellent sketch artist. He could draw full sketches in a couple minutes. For him to have the rough outline of his painting not done almost immediately meant something was wrong. “Problems?” I asked.
His brow was furrowed, and his glasses had slid down his nose. The intensity of his look was more intellectual than sexy. “I’m trying to capture the real you. I think I know you well enough that I can do more than just paint a hot girl in jeans and a t-shirt.” The moment he said the words he looked up with an alarmed look on his face. The look on his face showed that he felt I caught him thinking something naughty.
I stood up and walked over to see his sketch. It was an excellent representation of my body in jeans and a t-shirt. My face looked kind of thoughtful. There was a kind of understated beauty to my curves. It was really wonderful, but not at all a step toward us taking our relationship to the next level.
I took his hand with the pencil in mine. “You’re holding back. That’s so unlike you. You are an amazing artist, Rob. I took his hand with the pencil and held it against my heart. Paint the me that you see when your eyes are closed. The me that you dream about. The me that you wouldn’t want anyone to see. Because that’s what I want to see.” I let his hand go. “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t do that.”
I kissed him on the lips. “Now start over.” If he didn’t get the hint that I was looking for something more I didn’t know what I’d do. He was a maddening combination of cute, clueless, and awkward.
He grabbed a new canvas as I lay back down on the sofa. I stretched my legs out and lay back, watching as Rob worked. He furiously sketched. Every so often he would stop and stare at me for long periods of time. The look on his face as he studied me was different than before. It wasn’t that of analysis. It was of desire. I had seen it before. It had taken me years to realize it, but that look of desire was omnipresent on Max’s face as he looked at me.
He put the pencil down, and I stood up. “Now let’s see what you’ve got.”
“I’d rather not have you see this just yet.” He looked uncomfortable, almost scared.
I soon discovered why. He had sketched me naked, with my left hand holding my left breast and the other laying on my thigh. Rob had an amazing gift, and even though it was just a quick sketch I had to admit that it was extraordinary how well he portrayed my curves without ever having seen them.
Yet it was also weird and disappointing. I suddenly wondered if I was ready for this. I thought I would enjoy being the object of someone else’s desire. I had hoped it would be amazing to finally experience the physical connection of another person at that most primal level. But the reality is that at that moment I didn’t feel any excitement at all.
“This is great, Rob!” I said, with sincere appreciation and some forced enthusiasm.
“It is?” He looked relieved.
“Well, for the most part. You got one thing wrong—”
Before I could even explain that I was jokingly referring to a necklace that my parents had given me and that he wouldn’t have known anything about anyway, he jumped in.
“Well, there’s only one way for me to get it right. You need to get your clothes off.”
I had hoped that he would kiss me, tell me how he looked forward to finding out that his imagined view of my nude body wasn’t nearly as great as the reality, and then ask me about posing for another sketch only with my clothes off. But he not only used the least sexy way possible to get me to take my clothes off, he actually started tugging up the bottom of my shirt.
I stepped back, unsure what to do. Things were just awkward at the moment, but everyone had told me that losing your virginity was awkward and not really all that great. Was that what this was? Rob was looking at me with desire and lust in his eyes. I had hoped that it would be a turn on for me, but it wasn’t.
I tugged my shirt over my head. I was willing to give it another shot. Let him see me nude and sketch me. Then we would see where things went. “Ready?” I asked as I walked toward the couch, dropping my shirt on the floor. I undid my bra, dropping it next to the shirt. I removed my shoes, and then unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off along with my panties. Rob’s jaw was dropped open.
I lay down on the sofa, once again dropping my right leg to the floor, while I stretched my left leg out. I dropped my right hand down to my thigh, matching his sketch as much as possible. I looked up, and Rob looked like he was in heaven.
He started painting, and as he did I got comfortable being nude in front of a guy. It wasn’t so bad. The time was also positive in that I daydreamed about how later would actually go.
He was really cute, and I anticipated that like a lot of artists, his passion was just buried under the surface. Maybe he would put his brush down, walk over, and whisper how I was even more important than his art.
The painting went on. And on. And on. Any hope that Rob would drop the brush to run his hand over my hip or kiss me and tell me that he couldn’t just watch me he had to be with me were turning out to be a lost cause.
I tried to fantasize about how it would finally go when Rob made his move, but as each minute ticked by my interest in fantasizing about that moment drifted away. I went from tentative anticipation to excited fantasy to impatience to boredom.
I thought boredom would be the worst, but as Rob continued to paint as the minutes ticked by, a worse feeling filled me—a total rejection of Rob and a yearning wish that it was Max in the room with me. I had seen Max naked, and now I wanted him to see me naked. Maybe that would bring us together.
By the time Rob had finished, my mind was consumed with Max and all of our lost opportunities and misunderstandings. He was the hottest, kindest, sexiest guy I’d ever met, and I knew that no one else would ever measure up.
It was at that point that Rob waved me over. “Want to see it?” He didn’t realize that I didn’t really want to see anything. I wanted to feel something. I stood up, picked up my clothes, and held them against my body as I walked over.
Rob was beaming as I looked at the painting, and he should have. It was a spectacular piece of an incredibly sexy woman lying on a couch with a vibrant “come hither” look on her face. I could see that Rob had painted his desires into me. The me that was in the painting was clearly begging the viewer to have sex with her.
I had never seen myself in that way, but I knew that was part of me. That was the me that had kissed Max and dreamed about hi
m. Why couldn’t Max see it? And as my thoughts were filled with Max, Rob took a step and hugged me from behind, running his hand up to my breast. “You are amazing, Katie.”
I pulled away, awkwardly and with enough force that I couldn’t really hide my unhappiness with him touching me that way. I had wanted to lose my virginity. I had hoped it would be with him, but the moment I felt his arms around my naked body I knew it could never be him.
I didn’t even bother putting my bra on. I slipped my t-shirt on and quickly put on my panties and pants. Rob looked at me the whole time with a look of shock on his face. I took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, Rob.” I felt a lot of things—sadness, awkwardness, embarrassment, but more than anything I was filled with relief. I, at least, was remaining true to the promise.
24
Max
A couple of months into the Summer session after my sophomore year, Katie called. We hadn’t talked since before the end of the school year, but I blamed that on the fact that we were both busy with advanced studies. Of course the reality was that I was afraid to call her after the disaster with Erin, and then life got complicated again, and, well, here we were.
“Katie!” I answered when I saw her number.
“Heya Max.” She sounded kind of wistful.
“I’m so glad you called.” She didn’t reply, which scared me a bit. “Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.” Which was true—Katie was always the passionate and excitable one. More often than not she would do something crazy to make me smile. Quiet and restrained wasn’t her style.
“I just miss you is all.” As she spoke the words my heart leapt. I missed her terribly, but we had parted on such bad terms a few months earlier I didn’t think we would ever be close again. She hated me for dating Erin, who I knew had a tendency to alienate people, and she hated me for abandoning the promise, and I didn’t really blame her even though I hadn’t. I told her Erin and I had broken up on the phone afterward, but she didn’t seem impressed. More than anything I knew I had disappointed her.
In the few conversations we had since then there were so many things I wanted to tell her, but none of them seemed appropriate. I mean, you don’t tell the woman who has lost faith in you that you keep dreaming about her in a wet t-shirt at your swim meet. I knew I had to rebuild a foundation of trust, but I just hadn’t known how to do that with my own life swirling around me.
“Oh Katie, I miss you, too!” I decided to make an attempt at rebuilding that trust. “I know I’ve been an idiot in so many ways.” She was quiet. “You deserve better than me,” I finally whispered.
“No. Don’t say that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve always known that, but sometimes I just need to be reminded of it.” Her voice was still sad and thoughtful. It was killing me, and I was going to tell her I loved her, but her voice suddenly brightened, and she said, “But you know, that’s not as important as getting your opinion on The Walking Dead!”
I laughed, relieved. This was the Katie I knew and loved. “It’s really going downhill. I warned you of this. The comic is way better.”
“You’re crazy. The comic is missing some of the best character dynamics you see in the show.”
And thanks to The Walking Dead Katie and I began a conversation that was like every conversation we’d had since we met at twelve years old, whether it was Firefly or The Avengers or even porn we’d examine as we huddled around my laptop. The topics of the conversations changed, but the spirit was always the same—a joy in discovery, in sharing opinions, in gentle insults, and, more than anything, shared enthusiasm. Our conversations never got old, and our current phone discussion reinforced that. We were having a blast.
“Okay, I’m going to give in on The Walking Dead and reluctantly admit defeat on Peter Jackson.” I laughed. “It’s funny, you and my girlfriend are so similar. She is constantly giving me a hard time about the same things. Thanksgiving is just not going to be fair—two against one.”
There was a pause, and then Katie replied, “You have a girlfriend?”
“Didn’t Mom or Dad tell you? Well, shit, obviously not. Don’t worry, Katie. She’s nothing like Erin. Like I said, she actually reminds me of you. She’s nice and sweet and loves the same things I do.”
“You’re bringing her to Thanksgiving?”
“Well, I guess. That’s like five months away. I was just imagining you two teaming up on me. That would be tough for me.”
There was a long pause, and then Katie replied, “I bet you dream about that, don’t you?” There was a kind of dismissive tone in Katie’s voice, which I took as a good sign. She had a long history of mocking me.
“Ha, that’s more like a nightmare. I can barely handle you, let alone you and Julie. I wouldn’t know what to do!”
“Sorry, I have to go,” Katie stated, her voice rushed. “I’m glad Julie is like me.” Before I could reply she had hung up the phone.
I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of our conversation. Part of me thought she was mad over Julie, but part of me was thinking that she didn’t really say anything negative. I had explained that Julie was nothing like Erin. That was good, right?
I decided to make a better effort at calling Katie, but she was never free when I called and never called me back the rest of the summer.
25
Katie
I called Max after I broke up with Rob. I needed my best friend, even though I knew things had changed between us. I wanted to call the friend who would say, “I’m so sorry, Katie,” and then he would laugh and add, “I bet he was ugly and had a body odor. I’m sure you’re better without him.” Or ask me, “So how far did you go? Does he kiss better than me?” or say, “What, he tried to seduce you like that? What an asshole!” All girls have friends like that, and Max had always been that friend for me.
That was the kind of friend Max had always been—sharing everything and laughing and learning about the most embarrassing and sad moments. It made them all more tolerable.
But after Erin such a conversation would have been awkward. Still, part of me wanted to tell him that I wanted to lose my virginity, but that it wasn’t in the cards because I still believed in the promise and that Rob wasn’t nearly as sexy as Max was.
For years I shared everything with Max, and now it would have felt weird to do that. It made me sad.
Still, Max was Max, and our conversation brightened my mood. It was like we had never had a falling out as we talked about The Walking Dead, teasing each other in that way we always did.
But then he mentioned his girlfriend, and my heart sank. I couldn’t deal with it, especially as he said she reminded him of me. How could I make sense of something like that? Did he actually want me but was fucking her instead since she was accessible or was she a better version of me?
And then he was mocking me with comments about a threesome when we’d all be together at Thanksgiving. That hurt the most. Was that all I was to him anymore, part of a fantasy inspired from some cheap porn film?
It made me think of Rob. I cried when I broke up with him. Not because I was sad over the break up, but because I was sad he wasn’t Max and that no one would ever be Max. But now even Max wasn’t the Max I loved and adored.
Part VI
26
Max
There was Erin, then there was Julie. Then a couple dates with a girl whose name I don’t remember. Isabel. Rose. Then Petra senior year. I guess I made it through college with some degree of success with women, but every one ended with tears, anger, and always… emptiness.
The fact was that none of them measured up to Katie. Julie was so much like Katie, but that turned out to be a bad thing. She was just a little worse in every way. She was funny but not as funny. She was pretty but not as pretty. She was even sexy, but not as sexy. In the end, Julie felt like settling for a pale copy of the real thing.
Petra was the only one that I felt a real connection with, and
it was due to her actually being different than Katie. Petra was as cold and calculating as I was, whereas Katie was all emotion and crazy ideas and flying by the seat of her pants.
Not that Petra was a sociopath. She just liked to assess all the variables before making a decision, and I found that comforting. She was smart and interesting, too. Add to that the fact that she was also unbelievably hot, and I liked spending time with her. The trouble was that we had nothing in common.
She would talk, and my mind would wander back to Katie. The thing was that I wanted to make things work with Petra. I knew I had to get past Katie. I wasn’t stupid. Katie was beautiful and funny and artistic and going to a school with people who were just like that. She had abandoned the promise multiple times already, I was sure.
So I had to look to the future, but every time I tried I hit a wall, and my difficulty in enjoying Petra as a friend seemed to indicate that it was all me. It would be impossible for me to connect with anyone without some core problem. Was complete happiness with someone impossible?
I was thinking those things over while still hearing the echo of a slammed door in my ear. Petra had been upset, more than upset—she was actually screaming how I wouldn’t do more than make out with her. I heard her mutter “I can’t believe I’m having to beg a guy to sleep with me” as she stormed out the door.
Why wouldn’t I go any further with my girlfriends? I certainly had my chances. I told myself it was because having sex required something special. Katie and I had never discussed the practical experience of losing one’s virginity concerning us, but we had talked at length about the moment in general. And we agreed—sex is something that would be super awesome with your perfect parter and not quite as awesome with someone else. At least that’s what our teen minds believed.
A Promise to my Stepbrother Page 8
