The Sex Education of M.E.

by L. B. Dunbar

  I slipped out of the bed and wrapped myself back in my clothes. Straightening my skirt, Merek entered the room. Without much exchange, he watched me dress. I explained briefly why I was leaving, begging him silently to ask me to stay, but knowing I couldn’t. For once in my life, I wanted to feel like someone didn’t want me to go. I shook my head at the thought.

  I stepped around Merek, held my head high, took a deep breath and left the apartment. I only made it to the car before tears blinded me. Blinking hastily, I pulled away from the curb. My hand trembled as my thoughts conflicted with what my body had done. The way he touched me. The way he filled me. It was so intense. But my inadequacies overwhelmed me. Worried I didn’t satisfy him, I took his abrupt departure from the room as evidence he wasn’t. My tears dried only enough to make it in the front door. Stunned, I found both my girls home.

  “Mom?” Bree called out.

  “Mom, where were you?” Mitzi expanded.

  The collective questions warranted an answer, yet I didn’t want to explain myself. How could I tell them where I’d been? I went to have sex with a man who wasn’t their father. Doubtful that was an appropriate response. Swiping briskly at my cheeks, I took a deep breath and walked into the family room.

  “Hey. You girls are home early,” I said, sounding a bit too cheerful. My voice cracked.

  “Allison went home early tonight,” Bree offered.

  “Kevin got a stomach ache,” Mitzi said. Her eyes pinched, giving off an appearance of scrutiny. My oldest knew me well. She would notice the swollen eyes. She would question the blotchy cheeks.

  “Mom, you okay?” Mitzi asked. Bree didn’t shift her attention from the television.

  “Yeah.” My hand wave dismissed the concern. Her wide eyes proved she didn’t believe me, but my girls were used to seeing that sad expression on my face. It had been a while, but Mitzi would excuse my appearance as thoughts of her father. Shaking her head in dismay was confirmation of my prediction.

  “I’m going to bed,” I offered, and stepped toward the front hall. I hadn’t made it to the stairs when I heard the murmurs of the girls.

  “Bree, did you see Mom’s face?”

  Silence. Bree couldn’t pull herself away from a good movie.

  “Bree?” Mitzi snapped.

  “What?”

  “I think Mom’s been crying again.”

  Silence. My Bree wasn’t one for words.

  “I thought she was done with tears. I can’t watch her be sad again,” Mitzi answered herself.

  “She’s not sad. She misses Dad,” Bree replied softly. “There’s a difference.” My psychology- loving daughter had tried to diagnose me the past year.

  “She needs to move on,” Mitzi said.

  “She can’t,” Bree replied.

  “I just want her to be happy again.”

  “Me too,” Bree answered. The room fell quiet again and I climbed the stairs. Me, too, I thought.

  Gia decided I needed further indoctrination into being single, so she took me to a dance club. Chicago was filled with them, in a variety of themes. Tonight was Ladies Night at The Square, a place on the edge of the city, near the airport. Despite the Ladies Night moniker, the place was packed with men. Old men. For older women. Anyone who had stock in thick gold chains might find one here around the neck of someone whose shirt was unbuttoned one button too many. A quick survey of the place and instantly I realized I had entered a parallel universe or something. There was too much testosterone in the air and any second someone would pee on me to stake a claim.

  Gia believed I needed a place to let loose. I was still uptight over my night with Merek. He hadn’t contacted me, and I didn’t have the emotional strength to contact him. He’d scratched my itch, as he might have said, and I didn’t want to turn into a needy rash. I held strong to the conviction that I got what I had asked for: sex and nothing more. Still, my heart ached. It hurt that he hadn’t called me. My imagination ran away with grandiose ideas of Merek finding our night together life-altering, like it had been for me.

  I wasn’t a good dancer. I had been. At one point in my life, I loved to dance. Music was addicting, and when at home, alone, cleaning bathrooms or dusting furniture, letting loose was no problem. I’d sing in my off-key way and gyrate like a backup dancer. But in public, forget it. It was one of those weird hang-ups. Nate once told me I couldn’t dance, like I didn’t do it well, and so I never did again. I shouldn’t have harbored the insult, but I could never let it go. I hung onto it. Feeling self-conscious of my body, added to the discomfort of public exhibition. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, and shaking for others wasn’t my thing. I envied people who could do it. Work their body, and not think twice, but I was definitely thinking twice about my decision to be here.

  “You can do this,” Gia encouraged with a squeeze to my hand and I took an empowering breath. “Relax. Deep breath in, deep breath out,” she mocked. “That’s good.”

  Risk-taking. That was tonight’s theme. I needed to let the night lead me. I tried to rid my mind of Merek for days and the dance club was the distraction I needed. Only within minutes I wondered what it would be like to dance with Merek. My body recalled the press of him against me. The way his hips rolled. You know what they say about a man that can dance? In reverse, I knew Merek would be an amazing dancer if there was any comparison to his sexual ability. I shook my head to erase the thoughts.

  We’d sauntered to the bar. The strobe lighting reflected in the place like a disco horror movie. The lights were so dim I strained to see more than ten feet away and the red flashing bulbs, laser beamed over the dance floor, enhanced the 1970s feel of the place. I waited patiently to order a drink. I wasn’t good at interrupting, but it seemed like the bartender was taking an extraordinary amount of time to notice I wanted to place an order. He was more interested in helping anyone but me. Gia eventually wedged between me and a man with his back to us. Speaking to him, he raised his arm and the bartender approached. Gia yelled our drink order over the loud music. The man with his back to us twisted, and Gia was suddenly in a deep conversation with him.

  I took the opportunity to scope out the place again, as best I could. I’d never seen so many black button downs in my life. A man with solid gray hair approached, and my heart sank. This had happened before. Men nearly twenty years older would flirt with me. I smiled politely and his mouth opened wider to display a row of yellowed teeth. I stood taller than him in my wedge heels, which wasn’t saying much, as I wasn’t a tall woman. His skin was weathered, a gold chain prominent at his throat.

  “Come dance with me, baby.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t have an answer. There was no way I was dancing. Fortunately, Gia handed me my drink and I held it up as a response.

  “Maybe when I finish this.”

  He didn’t get the hint, as he remained nearby, clearly willing me to hurry up. I sipped slowly.

  “So, come here often?” His white eyebrows wiggled, and I choked on the sweet wine. He couldn’t be serious. Did men really still ask that question?

  “She’s a virgin,” Gia yelled over the music, and it was his turn to sputter. His eyes undressed me and, for once, I didn’t have the urge to cover my body in shame. I wanted to scrub it clean.

  “Square Virgin,” Gia clarified, and the intensity of his smile grew.

  “Well, let me de-virginize you.” His open mouth displayed his yellowed teeth. I laughed uneasily at his persistence.

  “I think I’m all set,” I retorted. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, I’d like to see that, too,” he whistled, his eyes still roaming up and down my body, and I shivered.

  “Okay, killer, she’ll be around later for a dance. Let’s not pressure the virgin,” Gia interjected, her facial expression admonishing him, and he dipped his head as an exit. Within seconds, he moved onto a group of women standing at a high table.

  “This isn’t real,” I shouted to Gia. “I mean, men don’t hon
estly still act this way.” I laughed.

  “Yeah, well, he wasn’t exactly a man.” Pinching her fingers an inch apart, she mocked him. The place was hot, but I shivered with nerves. Sweat pooled under my pits and I downed the glass of wine. Gia’s new friend asked her to dance, and she agreed, but not without pulling me toward the floor. I giggled again, tripping over my own feet. The tempo pulsed through me, and my one glass of wine became liquid courage, until I saw him.

  I’d hardly moved two swaying hips when I noticed a familiar face with a young girl near the corner of the bar. His hand wrapped around her upper arm, but she was doing all the conversing. In fact, she looked like she was arguing with him. Her free arm flared, her hand waving in response to something he said. He wasn’t letting her go, though. The dark t-shirt he wore bulged under the strain of his bicep muscles. He didn’t wear the standard uniform of the place: a black button down. The tight black tee accentuating his broad chest was pure Merek.

  The girl appeared roughly the same age as the waitress from the patio bar. This girl could have been one in the same person, for all I knew, with her long, straight hair and thin, youthful body. Her arm jerked and she freed it from his grasp.

  Gia bumped me with her hip and it set me stumbling a few steps into someone. Reaching for the stranger in desperation, I prayed I wouldn’t draw attention to myself by falling flat on my face. My focus so intent on Merek and the girl, I hadn’t noticed who I grabbed until it was too late: cheesy old man.

  “Well, well, well, ready for the virginal sacrifice?” he teased, as I looked into his older eyes. I shook my head. Glancing to the corner of the bar, I noticed Merek staring in my direction over the shoulder of his partner. His eyes narrowed, as if he couldn’t quite make out if it was me. Shaking off the cold hands holding me upright, I stepped back from the older man.

  “Oh look,” Gia sing-songed in my ear over the thudding sound of the music. “It’s Merek.” Her high-pitched squeal teased, but I wasn’t amused. The thought of Merek here, amongst all these men hunting for a one-night stand, made my stomach roll. The idea of Merek with a younger woman, someone slinky and sexy, forced the bile to rise.

  “I need to go,” I whispered, positive Gia didn’t hear me. Twisting away from my pursuer, I faced Gia shaking my head. Liquid pricked my eyes. Her hand reached out for me, but I backed away, making my exit.

  The contact with warm bodies, as I pushed my way over the dance floor, increased the heat radiating off of me. It was mostly nerves, but it added to the layer of hurt. While I had been hit on by an older man, Merek was at this bar with a younger girl. My imagination featured him with her, filling her the way he filled me, enjoying the lithe body of a younger woman who was slim, and trim, and experienced in ways I wasn’t. Pushing through the main doors to exit the club, I gulped the refreshing summer night air and swiped a shaky hand over my damp forehead. I fumbled for my keys as I hurried across the darkening parking lot, vaguely aware of footsteps following me. My heart raced, and I braced my keys between my fingers in a form of defense.

  When I rounded the corner of my car, I risked a glance in the direction of my follower.

  “Emme?” Merek called out, but I ignored him. I tried to press the unlock button, but my thumb hit the lock instead and the door gave no response. Flicking to the correct button, the locks clicked upward as Merek wrapped a hand around my upper arm. My fingers clasped the door handle, but his free hand reached around me and held the door shut.

  “Emme.” He breathed into my hair. “Why are you always running?” His voice teased against my neck. He gently tugged me against him, and I briefly reveled in the feel of him behind me before I spun on him.

  “What difference does it make?” I snapped. His dark eyes sparkled in the dim parking lot light. His grin widened and I wanted to slap him. To see with my own eyes that he was interested in someone younger, sucker-punched my gut. I didn’t need a visual. My imagination was wild enough.

  “I wanted to call,” he offered, and I groaned. Did men still say this excuse, too? There could be no reason not to call in the modern age. I used that line a hundred times with my daughters. You have a cell phone, so you can call me anytime, from anywhere. It wasn’t acceptable.

  “But I had to work,” he said. Exhaling hard, I read his black t-shirt: Security. My eyes flicked up to his. His lips tipped upward as the truth registered with me, and he twisted that seductive mouth to hold in a laugh.

  “You work here?” I choked.

  “Every Thursday night. Ladies Night,” he answered.

  “How convenient for you,” I bit out, not appreciating his teasing tone. His face grew serious.

  “Why would you say that?” His brows arched. His eyes opened wide.

  “I saw you with that girl,” I stated. “Very pretty. Very young.”

  “That girl?” His forehead wrinkled. “She’s…wait a minute, I saw you with that man on the dance floor.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I laughed without humor. “He was old.”

  “Oh, Henry’s harmless.” His twisting lips struggled against another laugh. I didn’t let his familiarity with said Henry deter me.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” My voice lowered as did my eyes and he loosened his grasp enough I pulled my arm free.

  “She’s too young to be here. I was escorting her out.” It seemed plausible based on the average age of the clientele. The Square was clearly for the over thirty crowd, if not even older. But someone twenty-something might find that age interesting, even financially beneficial.

  “Oh my God, was she a prostitute?” Merek’s fists clenched at his side in response as he hissed: “She better not be.” The determination in his tone frightened me. His anger instant. His eyes flitted toward the exit door, out of sight from my car.

  “I guess you should get back to work,” I said, as the silence fell between us.

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “This isn’t for me.” I flipped my hand in the direction of the club. Without warning, his arms enveloped me and I fumbled against his chest. My hands awkwardly reached for his waist as his broad biceps crushed me. His nose found my neck and he placed a tender kiss under my ear.

  “Is this your car?” His voice rolled seductively across my skin. “You drive a mini-van?”

  I was ready to defend the mini-van. The convenience of this vehicle was purposeful. I could cart carloads of kids and haul large items. I didn’t have time to answer when the hand on my back opened the side door.

  “Get in,” he said, twisting me. He wasn’t pushing, but he was definitely guiding me as I climbed into the second row. I sat with a thud as he climbed in, then slid the door hard enough it slammed.

  “What are you…” I started, but he knelt before me and enfolded his arms around my back, drawing me closer to him. His lips met my neck, caressed my jaw, and my mouth watered to taste his. The kissing thing I ignored in our tussle at his home, but tonight I wanted an answer.

  “Why won’t you kiss me?” I questioned, but as his mouth brushed aside my shirt and he nipped my shoulder at the juncture to my neck, my resolve disappeared.

  “Someone’s going to see us.” I worried. Merek picked his head up, taking note of the steam forming on the inside of the stifling car. His eyes drifted back to me.

  “I’ve been thinking of you.”

  “You have?” My voice squeaked and I cursed myself. My thoughts too hopeful. My response too quick. I’d been thinking of him constantly, to the point of total distraction. I was continually wet and ready, and wanting. It had been three full days.

  Laughter outside the van brought out the reality of where we were. It had been a long time since I’d made out in a car, or more.

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “I’m on a break.” He dragged me off the second seat.

  “How do you feel about being on your knees?” he asked, but he wasn’t waiting for an answer. I heard the zip of metal on metal as the two middle seats moved
forward. He positioned me to lean over the third seat in the van, my knees rubbing on the rough car carpet. We were below window level. Thankfully, the tinted windows, furthest back, allowed some privacy. My legs wedged open as his knees fell between mine. His chest crushed my back. He twisted my hair over his fist and raised it, so his mouth could suck on the nape of my neck. His arm was wrapped around my waist and he tugged me back to grind against the length of him pressed on my ass. The spark ignited instantaneously.

  Wanton woman, hear me roar. My hips rolled. My back arched. I rubbed against him like a waking kitten. My claws dug into the seat where my elbows braced. I might have actually purred.

  “Are you wet?” he growled, throaty and low, and the moisture between my thighs increased. My dress slid upward while his hand travelled around my hip to cup me. The touch forced me back. Thick fingers slipped into my underwear and impaled me sweetly. My back arched again as I sucked him into me.

  “Is this what you came here for tonight, Emme?” His tone, one of condemnation. “Are you wet and willing because you wanted someone to take you tonight?” His words cut through the air

  “No,” I groaned as his fingers rotated inside me and I thrust backward, tugging him deeper inside me. “Oh God,” I moaned, thanking every spiritual deity for the way he made me feel. He moved the collar of my dress for access to my shoulder. His warm mouth brushed over it, nipping me as he had before. If I wasn’t already on my knees, I would have fallen on them.