Dating Without Novocaine

by Lisa Cach

  I was fantasizing. I was a modern woman, I was supposed to want to pay my own way. It’s not as though I was looking for free food.

  Was I?

  No, what I wanted was clear rules on what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know what he expected, I didn’t know what I expected, I didn’t know what it would mean if he paid, if I paid, if we both paid. And he wasn’t showing any signs of helping me out.

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. I reached for the folder.

  His eyes blinked in surprise. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, laying his hand on it and pulling it toward him. “I’ll take care of it.”

  I smiled. The boy had potential.

  Eight

  Rubber Boots

  “I don’t get it. We’ve had three dates, and he hasn’t so much as held my hand.”

  “Hey, this would be good for terrorizing hikers,” Scott said, holding up a hunting knife.

  We were in GI Joe’s, an automotive and outdoors store. Scott was looking for a new bicycle pump, and I was looking for a pair of black rubber boots like I used to wear when I was in grade school.

  “What do you think’s going on with him? Is he not interested?”

  “He asked you out again, didn’t he?”

  “Not yet, but he e-mailed.”

  “What exactly does a wildlife biologist do?”

  “Rehabilitates wounded animals at the Wildlife Care Center. Leads birding field trips. And goes ‘pish.’”

  “‘Pish’?”

  I made the “pish” sound repeatedly, in demonstration. “Birds are supposed to like it.”

  “Do they come when you do it?”

  “Not that I could tell. Wade looks kind of cute while he does it, though.”

  Scott led the way to the tent display, with its smell of synthetic fibers, sleeping bags spread out inside one of them. “Want to take a nap?” he asked.

  “Tempting, isn’t it? Louise always gets embarrassed when I try out the chairs and couches in furniture stores.”

  “I love her dearly, but sometimes she needs to loosen up,” Scott said.

  “You should have seen her at the wrestling match. I wouldn’t be surprised to see her in the ring someday, taking out her built-up frustrations against annoying callers.

  “Hey, check these out,” I said, picking up a pair of binoculars and scoping out the store. I turned to look at him through them, a big blurry blob, then flipped the binoculars around and peered through the wrong end. “Dentist on the horizon! Man the cannon!”

  “I like shopping with you,” Scott said.

  I lowered the binoculars. He was looking more serious than required for the tent department. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just because I’m willing to test the products for you, saving you valuable time and money,” I said.

  “Of course.”

  We wandered out of the tent display and found the rubber boots. Wade had invited me for a slog through one of his favorite wetlands, and I needed the appropriate footwear for the outing.

  “Fourteen bucks,” I said, picking out a pair of boots in my size. “Do you think Wade is worth it?”

  Scott shrugged, picking up a pair of boots and sniffing them, then putting them back on the metal shelf. “He sounds nice enough. But maybe he’s…”

  “Maybe he’s what?” I asked, wondering why he’d sniffed the boot.

  “A little too passive for you. Maybe you need someone more aggressive.”

  “I don’t like macho guys.”

  “I don’t mean macho. I just mean…someone who will make a move. Someone who won’t let you push him around.”

  “I don’t try to push people around. What, do you mean I’m bossy?” I asked.

  “Didn’t your last boyfriend accuse you of that?”

  “I’m not bossy.”

  “No, of course not,” he said.

  “I’m not! None of my friends think so,” I said.

  “They’re female.”

  “What, bossy is different to men than it is to women?”

  “Women try to mother the guys they date,” he said.

  “Only when they act like children, which is three-quarters of the time.”

  “Maybe they act like children because women act like mothers.”

  “Is this a chicken-and-egg question? And what has it got to do with Wade? And why did you sniff a pair of boots?”

  “They smell like childhood.”

  Just when I was getting good and riled, he had to say something like that. “They do, don’t they?” I said. “They make me want to jump in mud puddles.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you doing anything like that.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’re always so neatly dressed.”

  “I have to be. It wouldn’t be good for business if I showed up in ill-fitting, unflattering clothes.” I’d thrown out all my comfort-grubbies when I’d moved up here, resolving to start my new life with a new look.

  “I’d like to see you rumpled.”

  “It’s not a pretty picture.”

  He looked as though he was going to say something, then his eyes shifted to the boots in my arms. “Are those okay, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s find the bike gear and get out of here.”

  Nine

  Synthetic Fur

  “I’m short, I know that,” Elroy the wrestler said, “and the professionals are getting bigger and bigger, but it’s personality that matters. It’s character.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I murmured, noncommittal, more interested in a tooth that was feeling funny. I’d been clenching my jaw lately when feeling stressed, and was worried I might be damaging my teeth. I could ask Scott about it, of course, but then he’d probably want to look in my mouth, and he’d see all sorts of problems that needed fixing, and I’d end up having root canals and crowns and teeth pulled and drilling, and, and…

  Elroy was sitting on the futon in my living room. The check he’d given me for his last costume had bounced, and he had managed to persuade me on the phone to let him come over and pay me for those pants and a new pair through a combination of barter and cash.

  Wrestling at the local level paid next to nothing—maybe twenty dollars a night. Elroy made his living as a bouncer at a strip club, using his bulked-up muscles and wrestling-ring sneers to visually intimidate drunks.

  He also made the odd dollar as a psychic, and it was that “skill” he was going to use to pay me.

  “People like an underdog. They like the small guy who fights like a pit bull. They like to see the giants fall. Makes them feel strong, like they can fight anyone who tries to push them down.”

  “I can see that.” I guess. I really couldn’t understand why guys would watch wrestling. Women, sure: it was a chance to leer at near-naked men.

  “So that’s why I’m the Bulldog. Short, heavy and powerful.”

  I raised my brows and nodded, as if enlightened. Elroy had wavy, bleached-blond hair down to his shoulders, and a complexion like a permanent sunburn. The costume I had made him was a studded black leather collar, and a pair of loose synthetic fur pants in a tawny color, with a little stub of a tail over his butt. I thought it looked like a joke, but it was what he wanted.

  “But do you have to do that leg-lifting bit, as if you’re peeing on your opponent?” I asked. It was a move he’d made his trademark, and the young boys in the audience thought it hilarious.

  “It’s symbolic. You know. Metaphorical.”

  I felt vaguely insulted that my costume was forced to engage in such behavior, and was thankful the matches were considered family entertainment. Otherwise, Elroy might have asked me to attach a red doggie weenie to the pants, with one of those squeeze reservoirs like a squirting flower. He had that much class.

  Still, he was basically a good guy, honest and enthusiastic. It was impossible to wish him anything but success with his underdog scheme.

  “I’ve got an appointment in a
n hour,” I said. “Shouldn’t we get started?”

  “Oh, okay. Can we close the curtains?”

  I got up and pulled the thin, pale green curtains across the windows. The light was barely dimmed, but it did lend a more private, calming atmosphere to the room. It crossed my mind that I didn’t actually know Elroy that well: he wasn’t going to try something funny, was he? I wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against him.

  “Got a candle?”

  I took one off the bookshelf and put it on the coffee table, and lit it. “That all right?”

  “Yeah. Now come sit beside me.”

  I gingerly sat at the other end of the futon.

  He rubbed his palms quickly over his thighs, then pressed his palms together and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Seconds ticked by.

  His eyes opened, and he looked at me. “Give me your hands.”

  He looked as though he was taking himself seriously, which was reassuring. If he intended to pull something, he was a better actor than he showed in the ring. I gave him my hands.

  “What is it you want to know?” he asked.

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, you know. The usual. Romance, work.”

  He squeezed my fingers, closing his eyes again. “There are men around you. They are attracted to you. Only one of them is right for you.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Am I involved with him?” I asked.

  “He’s near, very near.”

  “How near?” I asked, suspicious.

  “Very.”

  Gee, that was helpful. “What else about him?”

  “He’s fit, and near you in age. He thinks you’re beautiful.” Elroy opened his eyes, and the look in them was a little too intimate for my liking. “He will treat you well. You may think he is all wrong for you, but he’s the right one.”

  “What’s keeping me from seeing he is the one?” I asked. Elroy wasn’t talking about himself, was he?

  “The opinions of others. Or, what you think others will say. You have to follow your heart, not your head.”

  I’d be embarrassed to death to be seen on the arm of Elroy. He had to be talking about himself—there was no one else I knew I would be embarrassed to be seen with. I began to feel gyped. Psychic talents, my ass.

  “What about my business?” I asked. Maybe he’d come up with something useful.

  He closed his eyes again. “It will continue to grow. Maybe too much. Something will happen to make you balance your life when the work starts to be too much.”

  “I need all the work I can get.” What was this, platitudes time? His prediction could apply to anyone.

  Suddenly he squeezed my fingers, hard, and opened his eyes. “Wow. I just got a flash.”

  “Of what?”

  He shook his head. “That’s only happened two or three times before.”

  “What was it?”

  “Something bad.”

  “Oh, great!”

  “No, don’t worry. It’s bad, but it will be okay. It’s part of the process, you know. The learning. You never learn when things are happy all the time.”

  It occurred to me that Elroy and Cassie might make a good pair.

  “You’ll begin to see more clearly after it happens,” he said.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Are you busy Saturday?”

  I pulled my hands out of his. “Sorry. Gotta work.”

  Ten

  Tighty Whities

  I moved my playing piece halfway around the backgammon board, then looked at Wade from beneath my brow, smiling wickedly.

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking what my friends will say, when I tell them that my date involved owl vomit.”

  “I thought you were interested,” he said.

  Good Lord, the boy needed reassurance at every turn. “I was. It was fascinating, all those little bones and teeth stuck in a hair ball. It’s just an unusual thing to do on a date, go slogging around in boots and examining vomit.”

  “But you enjoyed it? You didn’t get too cold?”

  I had gotten cold, I’d gotten much colder and wetter than I’d let on, but telling him would make him run into a dark corner and hide. Even now, sitting on the floor in his small apartment, I could feel the dampness of my pants clammy against my skin. The boots had been as waterproof as promised, but nothing could stop the blowing rain from hitting my legs.

  “It was great.”

  It was a minor miracle I’d gotten him to take me back to his place. He seemed both pleased and wary to have me here.

  Silence stretched. His dog, Mooch, stinking of wet fur, stretched and sighed where he lay a few feet away. We both looked at him, grateful for the distraction.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  This was Date No. 5 with Mr. Wildlife, and still I hadn’t gotten so much as a kiss. I’d taken his arm while we were at the zoo—Date No. 4—in way of encouragement, but it hadn’t seemed to make an impression. I’d felt as if he wondered what was wrong with me, that I couldn’t walk on my own.

  And he didn’t make so much as a vague allusion toward sex, not even when we’d been standing outside the elephant enclosure and seen wagging around the most monstrous penis to roam dry land. It had been huge, like a fifth leg, frightening enough in its immensity to invite at the very least a meeting of the eyes and silent exchange of awe. Of horror. Of amusement.

  Anything.

  How could you let a sight like that swing by without comment?

  Of course, I couldn’t.

  “Bet the females run for their lives when they see that coming,” I’d said.

  He’d stared at me, and I’d felt my face go hot. I felt about as classy as a topless dancer.

  “The penis of an elephant is capable of independent movement,” he said just when I was ready to excuse myself and go hide in a rest room. “It has muscles so the male elephant, the bull, can find the vagina.”

  “Eww,” I said, utterly revolted. I didn’t want to think of elephant penises moving of their own volition, like thick pythons, slithering their way inside a female.

  “And the cow’s clitoris can reach sixteen inches in length, and become erect.”

  “I’ll bet men wish human women were the same—it would save them a lot of trouble.”

  He gave me a faintly puzzled look, then laughed. It sounded forced.

  “You must have learned a lot of strange things about animals in school,” I said, feeling again as though I’d shown my tackiness.

  “Sexual organs in the animal kingdom have a remarkably wide variety. The opossum, for example, has a forked penis—”

  “Don’t tell me! Ugh.” The conversation had done absolutely nothing for my arousal level.

  Now I looked at Wade across the coffee table upon which we were playing backgammon. Was he so shy that he needed me to make the moves? He seemed to like me well enough. He kept asking me out. What was the deal?

  Enough of this dinking—or not dinking—around.

  I crawled on all fours around the coffee table, moving slowly, staring into Wade’s eyes as if I were a stalking cat.

  His eyes widened, and he leaned away as I approached.

  I stopped only when my face was inches from his own, still staring at him. He blinked, eyelids fluttering. I closed the last few inches separating us, and lay my lips against his own.

  He didn’t move away, so I kept my lips there, then moved them against his own, and with the tip of my tongue lightly painted his lower lip.

  And then, finally, his hand came up and he brushed his fingers into my hair. I could feel him shaking.

  He leaned forward, so that I was forced back onto my knees. He put his arms around me and deepened the kiss.

  Victory!

  I was too caught up in the mechanics of the kiss to feel any sparks. It was my usual problem: stuck in my head, unable to let loose. But really, I had to keep my senses in this case, anyway. One false move and he would retreat
. It was more important that he gain some confidence, than that I get my kicks.

  Wasn’t it?

  He was a wet kisser, and I tried to not think of some large animal slobbering all over my lips and chin.

  I put my hands on either side of his face and gently held him back, retaking control of the kiss and dotting his lips and skin with closemouthed, dry kisses. Then, when he was properly still, I moved down the side of his neck, pulling at the neck of his sweatshirt with my index finger to expose an inch more of skin on which to suck.

  His hands fluttered above my sides, landing uncertainly.

  I pushed him back, forcing him to lie on the carpet. His head hit Mooch’s rear foot, and the dog jerked awake, raising his head to look at us as if affronted.

  Wade wasn’t protesting, and I took his silence as an invitation to continue. I slid my hand under his sweat-shirt, discovering a T-shirt underneath. I yanked it out of his pants, then slid my hand up his bare belly toward his chest.

  His skin was cool, and soft with flab. Fully clothed, I hadn’t seen how out of shape he was. I pushed his shirts up past his downy-haired nipples and ran my hands over his collar bone: it was as delicately built as a chicken wing. I squeezed his shoulders, and my fingers sank into cool, doughlike flesh.

  Where was my manly man, my Mr. Wilderness? All I had before me was an elongated city marshmallow.

  Still, he was a nice guy, and I was certain there had to be a wild animal under there somewhere. I bent and kissed his chest, and trailed kisses down toward his belly button. I sent a scouting fingertip into it, checking for debris, and was glad I had when I found the hardened clump of lint and dead skin.

  Why did men never clean their navels? Why?

  In any case, my tongue wasn’t going in there, that was for sure. And it seemed rude to dig out the crud and flick it aside. I moved on, kissing the side of his soft belly while my hands went to work on the fastenings of his pants.

  I got the button and zipper undone, then looked up at him as I parted the fabric. He had his eyes closed, and was lying still as a virgin.

  Which brought an unwelcome idea to mind.