I looked down, ashamed to admit how true her words were. “You’re right. I know I should’ve said something to defend you.”
“Oh, I don’t give a shit about me. She can talk trash all she wants. But to see you standing there, I just thought: Christine’s life seems…sad. And then when you told me that Ryan had left you, it all started to make sense.”
I nodded, trying not to feel sorry for myself.
She slapped her knee and her posture straightened. “So let’s start with the basics, shall we?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“How long has it been since you were with a man?”
“Mona!”
“Well, we need to get you back out there somehow! You’re divorced, Christine, not dead. When Jake goes to college in the fall, you’ll be all alone in that house of yours. Soon, you’ll get a cat. Then two more. And eventually I’ll be calling the show Hoarders only to uncover ten years’ worth of cat shit and coupon clippings.” A chuckle escaped and she shook her head, trying to be serious again. “I’ve seen it happen before. It’s tragic.”
I rolled my eyes and giggled along with her.
“So? How long has it been?”
This is embarrassing. “Um, 2004? I think.”
Mona’s jaw dropped. “Do not tell me the last man you were with was your husband!”
I scratched my head and avoided eye contact, remaining silent.
“Shit. Okay, we have more work to do than I thought. Sit down on the couch, and I’ll grab the wine.”
She shooed her kids upstairs and within an hour she’d gone over some basics I’d long forgotten: the essential rules of lovemaking.
I covered my mouth in shock. “You mean…you want me to let him put his manhood in my butthol—”
“Manhood! Oh God, Chris! For the love of all that is holy do not call it his manhood! I don’t even think that shit works in romance novels anymore.”
It does in the ones I’ve read.
“What should I call it, then?”
“His cock! Or dick, or schlong, or prick. Enough with the Betty Crocker bullshit. No using words like ding-a-ling, hoo hoo, pee pee, or manhood. You’re not baking cookies, Christine, you’re chugging cock!”
I went instantly on the defensive. “I’ll have you know that my peanut butter and chocolate gluten-frees are extraordi—”
“Christine! Focus. This isn’t the time to take offense about a recipe. If I ever decide to enter a bake-off at the county fair, I’ll call you. But right now you’re getting schooled on sex. Packing the pleasure pit. Slapping the sloppy fun pocket. Diddling the dingis—”
My hand flew up. “I got it.”
She’s right, though. I took in a surge of air, and once she was satisfied I wasn’t going to chime in about anything off-subject, she continued.
“You’re gonna let him fuck you blind. He’s gonna call you a slut, a siren, a slag, or his whore, and you’re gonna like it.” She nodded with wide eyes, waiting for me to agree. “It’s time to be naughty again. Can you handle that?”
The word instantly made my lady bits tingle and my cheeks flush. I gave her a nervous smile and she was happy I understood.
“And broaden your language capacity. Occasionally use words that the kids do. And for God’s sake, swear. Use the word fuck. A lot. Got it?”
I nodded again, but couldn’t say I’d felt comfortable with it.
“Good. Now then, as far as your…” She paused and gave my appearance a once-over. “…wardrobe goes, you’re going to need a little makeover.”
I glanced down at my baby blue blouse and sweater vest, pretending to adjust a button. “What’s wrong with my wardrobe?”
“Nothing.” She waved her hand in the air, dismissing a problem. “Unless you plan to take a seventy-two-year-old to bed.”
I slouched. “What am I supposed to wear?”
She giggled. “You remember the eighties?”
“As in the nineteen-eighties? Yeah, vaguely.”
“Well, that look has started to come back around, only updated a bit. So I’m going to help you with your makeup, and you can go to the store tomorrow and purchase some new clothes. Cool?”
I nodded, grateful for all of her help. “Cool.”
Looking around the room, I shook my head. “But Mona? Where am I going to find a man? The only guy knocking on my door is the Fast Ship delivery driver.”
She smiled and raised one eyebrow. “Give me your phone.”
I reached into my purse and took out my phone, handing it to her reluctantly. After tapping and swiping for about five minutes, she handed it back to me. “I just bought a spatula on your Amazon account,” she said, nodding as the side of her mouth perked up.
I nodded with her, pretending I was in on the secret. “Oh! I see!” Then, I shook my head. “Yeah, nope. I’m not following. A spatula?”
“It was the cheapest item I could think of.” She shook her head. “That’s not the point. The point is that I ordered it on rush delivery. When the delivery guy comes to your door, I want you to go down on him.”
“What!?” No way! She’s insane!
“It’s practice.” She shrugged. “Until I take you to the club.”
The club? No, no, no…“I’m not comfortab—”
“Of course you’re not! You haven’t done this in years. I assure you, it’s like riding a bike. Besides…” She eyed me skeptically. “…the Christine I know would’ve accepted the challenge without a problem.”
My stomach turned and I closed my eyes.
Okay.
I think I can do this. I swallowed.
Makeup. Clothes. And blowjobs.
I got this. I think.
This. Is. Crazy.
Chapter 5
More stressed out than I’d been in years, I returned home that evening and found Jake sitting in the living room, watching TV. Any thoughts of my rush delivery exited my mind as soon as I saw him.
“Hey, honey. How was the beach?”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nah. I guess I’m… well I’m waiting for your punishment,” he said, standing up and pacing the living room.
In all the sex talk, I’d forgotten that Jake had returned home drunk the night before. “Oh. That.” I peeled off my jacket and threw it over the railing.
“I know it was stupid, Ma. It’s not like I do that all the time, I swear.”
“Well, I realize you’re eighteen. And I know that I’m in a bit of denial, but I can’t say I wasn’t shocked when I saw you and Watson at the door,” I replied, sitting down on the couch and muting the television.
“Mom. I love you, you know this. But you’re still writing my name on my lunch bag like I’m seven years old. I’m a legal adult. I know that I’m not twenty-one, and it was stupid of me to think—”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I interrupted him, thinking back to Watson’s words in the car.
His head bowed, unsure if he should be grateful or not for the change of subject. “Yeah.” He shrugged.
“Why haven’t I ever met her? What does she look like? Does she have a name?”
“That’s why, Ma. I haven’t told you because I knew you’d have a million questions.”
“Of course I will! My only son has someone significant in his life. I’m actually a little disappointed you haven’t told me about her before.”
“All right.” He sighed and walked back toward the couch, sitting tensely on the edge of the cushion. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s her name?”
“Jenn.”
I nodded. “How long have you been dating?”
“Almost two years.”
“Two years! Jake, that’s like, an eternity for two kids in high school!”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what’s going to happen next year. I mean, I’m sticking around here to go to community college, and she’s moving to Washington state. I doubt it’s gonna work.”
“Yes, Mom. I don’t think there’s anyone in my class that’s hasn’t. Well, except Watson. Poor bastard.”
My eyes shot open and tried to calm my heart from beating so damn fast.
Oh, god. I’m going straight to hell. I can’t tell if my heart sped up because he said Watson’s name, or because of hearing that my son was no longer a virgin.
“Watson?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah. But I think he’s saving himself for some college chick.”
All the butterflies stopped flapping their wings and died mid air, crashing to the pit of my stomach.
Yep, a special place in hell for me: now I’m disappointed.
Wait a minute! Focus. We’re talking about Jake and his virginity! Not Watson and his!
“Did you use protection?” I asked, feeling my face burn at the embarrassment of this conversation.
“Of course! Don’t get upset, Ma. I took Sex-Ed. I know this is the first time you and I ever really discussed it, but I was able to figure it out.” He winked. “It’s just sex. I’m not going to ask the girl to marry me or anything.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know how I feel about you taking this all so lightly.”
“That’s such a chick thing to say!” He laughed and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But guys are a little different when it comes to that. Our virginity is something we want to get rid of, not something we cherish. Sex is sex—no matter when, how, what, with who, or how old we are when we do it. You have to start thinking like a guy, and stop thinking that every time is going to be something special. Sometimes it’s just…sex.”
I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. He was right, of course. But I am a chick. The way he spoke made me think he’d been doing it for a long time. Almost a pro—certainly more advanced than his own mother.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I mean, I’m sorry that your father isn’t here to talk with you about these things, too.”
He exhaled and brushed his hand through his hair. “I’m not. Dad left both of us, remember?” Sitting down next to me on the couch, he put his hand over mine. “And I think it’s time you get out there again. You know, start dating. Something. I just want you to be happy.”
He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to him. “It’s been years, Mom. And I haven’t heard you cry yourself to sleep in months.”
My head jerked up. He heard me?
He rubbed my shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it—it was hard on both of us. But I think if you’re ready, you should try.” He nodded. “Just…try.”
Chapter 6
After looking through my middle school yearbooks the next day, I had a plan in mind. I went to the mirror, and after applying my makeup just like Mona had showed me (adding a few details of my own), I styled my hair and grabbed my keys.
The skies were blue and my attitude had shifted. I was so happy I’d visited with Mona yesterday and spoken with Jake last night. It was about time I started living life. After all, it was just like Mona said, ‘You’re divorced, Christine, not dead.’
These new purple jean stirrups and Michael Jackson black T-shirt I found at the second-hand store were just what I needed. I loved that the shirt still had its original glitter.
People on the street were noticing me. I saw the heads of twenty men—and even some women—whip around to get a second look as I passed. Has no one in this town seen a beautiful woman before? I smiled wider. And I have twenty-four hours to prepare for my…rush delivery.
Passing a coffee shop, I couldn’t resist the aroma of fresh beans and popped in for a Skinny latte to go. I was thankful that the line was short and the barista took my order immediately.
“What are you wearing?”
I turned, startled at the deep voice—and even more startled when I saw who it was.
I barely recognized him with the dark tan and dirty T-shirt. On Friday night he was wearing a jacket, and I never noticed the strength in his arms.
Realizing Watson had asked me a question, I looked down at my clothes.
“And is that a banana clip in your hair?” he added. “I think my mom wore one for her eighth grade school photo. She talks about the eighties all the time.”
Proud of my new hip style, I replied, “Why, yes it is!”
He gave me a lopsided smile and furrowed his brow. After shaking his head, he gestured for me to join him.
I reluctantly obliged. “It’s good to see you again.”
His glance traveled to my shirt, screwing his smile into a snicker. And I suddenly felt a thick sweat on my forehead. Could Mona have been wrong? Oh lord. I must look ridiculous.
“You’re very…unique, Ms. Cole.” He folded his book closed, setting it on the table as a gesture to continue our conversation. I snuck a look into his backpack, which lay opened on the floor. The cover of The Joy of Sex was one you never forget, and there it was, resting among other books in his bag.
“Don’t let me interrupt you—” I began.
He waved his hand dismissively after briefly pointing toward the book in his hand. “The book isn’t for school.”
I glanced at the title: Computer Programming.
“I figured that since I don’t know what I want to do after I graduate, learning this stuff would be a good start no matter what I choose.” He smoothed his lips together and rubbed his palms on his thighs.
Moving like melting butter in a frying pan, he glided from one position to the next. In my daze of wondering what that tongue would feel like against my private parts, I bit my bottom lip and stared straight through him, allowing my fantasy to get the better of me.
The buzz of the air conditioner above our heads kept me in a four-second trance. But in those four seconds, my thoughts traveled to unimaginable places—where not only did he have three fingers buried inside me, but I could actually feel his nose on my clit when he insisted I ‘fuck his face.’
The dream that had been haunting me for the past two days crashed into the forefront of my mind. His lips, that tongue, the things he could do to me. And he was safe: innocent like me. Not like men my age who had experience—more experience than me. I’d only had sex with three men my entire life, and it’d been years…
Wait! What the hell am I saying? This is an eighteen-year-old boy sitting in front of me! This whole need to fornicate is really messing with my morals! And I’ve said the word ‘fuck’ twice in the past two days! I need to get out of here at the first oppor—
“Are you ready for the graduation ceremony?” he asked, after the uncomfortable silence lapsed.
“Yes, er… I mean, totes magotes!” I choked out awkwardly.
Chuckling, he whispered, “Christine…” and stretched his hand across the table. His fingers touched mine and sent a wave a tingles down to my toes. “…Just be yourself.”
I nodded, and after I cleared my throat, I said, “Did you get that tan at the beach yesterd—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes briefly in embarrassment. Could I make it any more obvious that I’m checking him out?
He chewed the inside of his cheek momentarily before his reply. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “And I work for my uncle on weekends. Landscaping.” He swept his hair from his brow and wiped his palms on his jeans. His jeans. They were distressed, sitting down low on his hips. One knee bent his leg under his chair, and the other leg stretched out toward me.
Watching him, my eyes inched upward, toward his groin, where his hand now rested. Strong hands, tan, slightly dirty—
“Ms. Cole?
“Huh?”
He laughed. “My face is up here.” He gestured to his eyes. “And I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. My mind must be somewhere else right now.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet.” Shaking his head, he scratched his hair backward again, sendin
g a whiff of his deodorant my direction. As if my senses weren’t on high alert with this boy already, now I had the scent of crisp, clean man and freshly cut grass making my head swirl with anticipation.
Feeling a bit ashamed, I swung my head downward and scratched the side of my neck. I looked toward the window as a safe haven of escape.
“Are you playing hard to get, or are you afraid of something?” he asked.
He’s reading me like a fucking book.
Feeling the slickness glide up as I crossed my legs, I closed my eyes tight. The desire was bubbling over, sending waves of euphoria from my knees to my lips. It felt so right, and it made me feel sick. This boy was probably in the same situation as me: a little lost, a little scared, and sick of fighting the primal urge that makes us human. And no matter how much my body was reacting to his words, his scent, his appeal, and a pair of the sexiest lips I’d ever laid eyes on, the simple fact still remained: I was too old, and he was too young.
A lump rose to the back of my throat, and as I opened my eyes, I forced my reply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But even I didn’t hear the conviction in my own words.
He bit his bottom lip and leaned toward me. “I’m guessing it’s the latter of the two. You’re afraid of stealing my innocence, aren’t you?”
“I should go.” I tried to stand, but he grabbed my hand from across the table. “What?” I snapped. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, you don’t know anything about me,” I added breathlessly.
“I know that you sing Tori Amos songs when you think no one’s listening. I know that you tug at your lip—like you’re doing right now—when you’re nervous. You use those disposable razors; the ones you can buy in packs of ten. And you use strawberry lotion after you take a bath. Fucking hypnotic, strangling, consuming, strawberry lotion.”
My mouth hung open and my mind cluttered with thoughts. He’s eighteen, for crying out loud! How does he know what to say? Oh God. Those rough fingers, and that messy hair. No! It’s just wrong!
Four Play: A Collection of Novellas Page 17
