The Sex Education of M.E.

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Because your heart broke once and it’s safer.” Marshall arched an eyebrow. Lap-girl nodded as if she was part of our conversation.

  “Then what’s your excuse?” I snapped. Marshall only glared at me across the table. Bridget loved him, I was certain of it. She’d loved him since we were kids, only she married some asshole and had three kids with him before my brother paid attention. Now, he dipped in the honey pot, stirred up the bees, and he was going to get stung, if he wasn’t careful. I knew. I had the history to prove it.

  The bar crowd cheered again at another hit by the Cubs, but I wasn’t in the festive mood. In fact, ever since Emme used the headache and monthly-bill excuse on me, I’d been down right pissed off.

  Before Marshall could answer my question, another girl sauntered up to the table. Late twenties. Size C cup. Narrow hips. Size four. Blonde hair. Not fake. I played this game with myself, sizing up the possibilities for a night then shared the skill with Marshall in a drunken stupor when he was twenty-one. We’d bet on it. Then it was tell-all once we had our hands on those breasts and our dick between those thighs. We were on the honor system to share details. No fudging the results. My stomach soured at the thought of this game, that we hadn’t played in years.

  When the woman stopped at our table, she helped herself to the spare chair.

  “Judy, whatcha doing?” she asked Lap-girl, still perched on Marshall’s lap.

  “I’m going home with my new daddy,” she giggled then swung an arm to wrap around Marshall’s neck. Only it knocked him in the nose, and he cursed while tears filled his eyes. She peppered him with kisses, murmuring words to soothe him.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, standing again. “I’m headed home.” I hadn’t gotten very far before I sensed someone behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed I was followed by the blonde.

  “Hey,” she called out. “Looks like Judy’s tied up with your friend. Mind giving me a ride?”

  I laughed at the irony of her question, but kept walking.

  “I bet you’d like a lift,” I snipped under my breath.

  “Actually, from the likes of you, I bet the lift would be pretty amazing.”

  She bumped into me as I spun on her. Her young form saddled against mine and my hands instinctively settled on her hips. An arm draped around my neck and I leaned forward. Whiffing a strong scent of citrus and bar smoke and something else, I froze. The fragrance was wrong. This wasn’t what I wanted. While I typically didn’t care who I drove home, tonight I didn’t want to give anyone else a ride, but Emme.

  My hands gently pressed Blondie away from me.

  “I can’t tonight.” I paused. “I have a headache.”

  I was sick. It was more than a headache, and blast it, if I didn’t have my period, too. I ached all over. A summer cold, and I blamed the combination of air-conditioning and college students I encountered at the university. The day was gorgeous outside, but I tossed and turned in bed. Merek clearly didn’t care for my excuse, which was not an excuse. Moments like this reminded me of Nate. As a mother, I wasn’t allowed to get sick. When my daughters were little, I worked through my own fevers, sore throats, and earaches. There was no one to take care of me. Nate was the worst. He still expected dinner on the table when my girls were young and I was a stay-at-home-mom. He had no sympathy for a headache, and forget about the pain of a period. It was all an excuse, he would say. People wondered why I married Nate and some days, I did, too.

  When a knock came on my front door, I ignored it. Nobody’s home, I cried in my head. It was only me. The girls were at work, and I was slightly grateful I had the house to myself. No one would take care of me anyway. Being sick brought out the Debbie Downer in me, and I hated it. I acted like a baby. Melancholy and illness certainly did commiserate.

  Emme? My phone pinged.

  I stared at my name on the screen. It was rare for Merek to text me early in the day. Even more rare was the fact that it was actually the day after his last text.

  Hey, I typed weakly. I didn’t have the energy for Merek at the moment. Contributing to my headache were wayward thoughts about him, his lack of kissing, and his sexual history. I hadn’t thought about it before, but if I didn’t fulfill his needs last night, had he found someone who did? The weight on my chest was as heavy as the ache in my lower back and I sighed audibly in my empty bedroom.

  Open the door, he replied, and I heard a knock again. I shot upright. The pressure on my head forced me to wrap my hands around my forehead. He couldn’t possibly be at my house. He didn’t know where I lived. He didn’t care that I was sick. He wouldn’t want to see me looking like I did: unshowered, sick-smelling, greasy haired.

  - I’m not home, I responded.

  - Your van’s here. I remember it.

  Damn it, I sighed. I didn’t have the energy to play Merek’s games.

  - I’m sick, Merek. You don’t want to see me like this.

  - Yes, I do…want to see you.

  This can’t be happening, I thought as I slowly pulled myself from the bed. I snuck to bathroom first, able to see Merek’s truck parked in the street before my home. Hastily, I brushed my teeth and straightened my crooked ponytail. I gripped the railing as I descended the stairs, each step hurting my head as my body quivered from lack of food. I dreaded the next move, but I opened the front door and found a vision of health standing on my front step. Not only was he holding a bouquet of meadow flowers, but a grocery bag dangled from his hand and a huge smile framed his face.

  “Hey.” My voice was weak.

  “Hey. You don’t look so good.” He blinked, his smile fading a bit.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been better. What are you doing here?”

  “House call,” he said, and reached for the handle of the screen door. I stepped back while he helped himself inside without invitation.

  “You need to get back in bed,” he teased, and his flirtatious grin wasn’t lost to me.

  “Wouldn’t you like that?” I snipped, my tone harsher than I intended.

  “I would.” His lips twisted. “But not today.”

  My legs wobbled and I had to sit down. I hit the landing with a thud. Merek set the flowers on the floor along with his grocery bag and reached out for me.

  “I can walk,” I said, but he was already hoisting me upward. An arm wrapped around my back and another scooped under my knees. I was suddenly carried up the stairs as if Merek knew where he was going.

  “How did you know where I lived?” I asked.

  “I have my sources.” He winked. Sensing his struggle to carry me up the set of stairs, I offered once again to walk, but he ignored me. Pointing right at the top of the staircase, Merek carried me all the way to my bed. I settled back, propping up my pillows then looked up to notice his eyes roving my body.

  “What are you wearing?” he groaned

  “A nightgown.” It wasn’t an old-fashion, long sleeve, high collar outfit. This was not my grandmother’s get-up. This was an elongated tank top, hugging my body, currently minus a bra, and falling mid-thigh. It was cool and comfortable. Nate never liked them; said they reminded him of his mother, but after his death, I began wearing them again. It seemed rather slinky to wear all alone, but I liked it. Merek looked a bit appreciative of it, too.

  Shaking his head, he said he’d be right back, and I slipped lower on the bed. Sitting upright wasn’t helping the pounding in my head, and I couldn’t take more meds for another two hours. My eyes tried to focus on the silent screen of the television. It was on, but I wasn’t listening to any sound. I’d tried to read earlier, but I didn’t have the strength to focus on words. I could hear Merek opening and closing cabinets, then my refrigerator and I smiled in spite of myself to think of all he learned about me from my household appliances. I wasn’t much of a cook and my bare cabinets proved it.

  He returned to my room with the flowers in a vase and a wine glass.

  “Here,” he offered.

  “What’s this?”


  “Water.”

  “You brought me water in a wine glass?”

  “I figured it would make you feel better, drinking it out of something fancy.” His eyes didn’t have to roam far to see the plastic cup of water resting on the floor near the bed. It was slightly out of reach and he picked it up after setting the wine glass on my night stand.

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  I actually couldn’t remember. I’d come home from class around noon and took a nap. I told the girls to fend for themselves regarding dinner. It was almost eleven the next day, and I hadn’t had breakfast…

  “A while.”

  “Feel sick to your stomach?”

  Actually, I did. Migraines did this to me, but I also knew if I ate something or had some caffeine, it normally helped despite the lack of hunger.

  “Eggs or soup?”

  “Ugh…” I groaned and his eyebrows pinched in concern. “How about some toast first?”

  I nodded and he disappeared. Returning with a small plate, he’d decoratively spread triangle cut pieces of toast around some scrambled eggs. I had to smile. If nothing else, his presentation skills were commendable.

  “So this is your room?” he asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his shorts and taking in the space. I had a king size bed with one side still made. There was no point to mess up what used to be Nate’s side. In fact, I considered getting a smaller bed, but the girls would occasionally crawl in with me to watch television, and for that reason alone, I kept the bigger one. Merek slowly turned, noting the lamp, a jewelry box and the television on the long dresser. Clothes were piled on a chair in the corner. Framed photographs stood on Nate’s dresser. Our wedding photograph stood at the back of the collection.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked, already removing his shoes and climbing over me. He plopped back on the extra pillows and faced the television. Eventually, he rolled his head in my direction, taking in my exposed neck and sagging breasts.

  “You didn’t have to get all dolled up for me.” His gaze scanned the nightgown again.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” I reminded him.

  “Not coming yet,” he muttered, and I groaned.

  “You didn’t just say that,” I laughed. He smiled weakly in return. We stared at one another for a long moment. I suddenly felt exposed. My mind wandered to what he’d done without me, when I didn’t take up his invitation last night. My mouth couldn’t filter my thoughts.

  “How does it work?” I asked quietly.

  “Excuse me?” he stuttered, his eyes blinking.

  “If you call, and I can’t…I mean…what do you do? Call someone else? Or do you have standing appointments? Like Wednesday is Wendy, and Tuesday is Tiffany.”

  “Emme,” he warned softly, looking away from me and settling his eyes on the television again. I continued to stare at his profile. He was such a good-looking man. His salt and pepper scruff only heightened his looks. Despite the crinkles by his eyes, his face was young, and his body, good Lord, his body was built like none I’d seen in person. To fill the awkward silence, I had to speak.

  “That’s what your call was, right? A booty call? You wanted sex, but I couldn’t. So what did you do?” I tried my hardest to keep my voice from sounding accusatory or even condemning.

  He rolled his head back to face me. “Jesus, where do you come up with this shit?” He ran a hand down his face.

  “I read. A lot.”

  He stared at me. “I called my brother,” he sighed. “We went to the bar.” He paused and I sensed there was more. Merek was often evasive, and while I was easily distracted by his body, I didn’t miss that he didn’t share about himself personally.

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “He’s younger than me by seven years. He was considered their miracle baby, as my parents didn’t think they could have more after me and my sister. She had been two years older than me, but she died when I was three.” His voice faded as he spoke of her. My hand reached out to touch his forearm. While he didn’t flinch, he didn’t seem to notice either.

  “I’m so sorry, Merek.”

  He shrugged. “It was a long, long time ago.”

  “Still, it must have been hard for your parents, and growing up as a young child.”

  I couldn’t imagine the loss of a child. I didn’t want to imagine it. The pressure on his parents. The way they either smothered him or stepped away from him with their loss. Then another child came along.

  “So what did you and your brother do last night?” Attempting to shift the conversation, I realized I might have been drifting into another discussion I didn’t wish to have.

  “My brother’s…he’s having a difficult time, but his head is so far up his ass, he’s making a fool of himself. He’s about to lose everything because of it.” The anger in Merek’s voice surprised me.

  “What kind of difficulty?”

  “He got a girl pregnant. Although she isn’t a girl, and he isn’t a kid, either. He’s thirty-five and needs to grow up.” Merek’s tone had turned to irritation. He turned to face me again.

  “Hey, I didn’t come over to share my brother’s life with you.” His tone lowered, but his eyes were tender. I continued to stare at him.

  “Why did you come over here then?” In answer to my question, he reached out for my forehead. My eyes closed as he began a slow circular motion at my temples. The thick pads of his thumbs rubbed over my brows while his index fingers continued to circle near my eyes. Tender lips met one temple and then the other. The kiss was sweet and his lips brushed my nose before I opened my eyes again.

  “Where else does it hurt?” he asked softly, and I muttered, “My back.”

  “Roll over,” he prompted and I twisted so my back was to him. His expert hands started with my lower back, as if he knew exactly where to touch. As if he knew exactly what I needed. Like he knew the first night. Like he knew the other night. I should have cared that his hands worked on something similar to an inner tube, but the soothing sensation mesmerized me. He massaged over the thin cotton of my nightgown before pulling up the material to get at my skin.

  Sweet lips met my spine and trailed downward. He shifted to my lower back and alternated between tender massage and searing kisses. He turned me on even when I had no intention of following through with the seduction.

  “I went out with Rod again,” I blurted and his hands stilled, his mouth resting against my lower vertebrae. I waited a beat before continuing. I wasn’t certain why I told him. Maybe it was because I wanted to hurt him for being evasive about what he did last night. Knowing it wouldn’t hurt him, that reason seemed childish. I said it for honesty. I wanted him to know what I’d done. “But I don’t plan to see him again.”

  His hands returned their attention to the thick muscles of my back. My hand stilled his.

  “I can’t fool around, Merek, if that’s why you’re here.” I couldn’t face him as I spoke. I didn’t want to stop him, but I didn’t wish to proceed either. There was no way I was having sex while I was sick or while I had my period.

  “That’s not why I’m here,” he replied, and I noted again he hadn’t told me the reason he was at my home. “What happened on your date?”

  “He kissed me.” Merek’s fingers dug into tender flesh for a second, and I flinched as it tickled, although that wasn’t his intention. “I didn’t like it. And I’m only telling you to be truthful.” I didn’t want to add that I didn’t like secrets. We were each going to have our own, if all we were sharing was sex. But I also didn’t want to lie.

  “Why didn’t you like it?” His sultry voice and demanding lips traced over each blade waiting out my answer. “Tell me.”

  “It didn’t feel right,” I whispered.

  “Do you want to be kissed?” His mouth rose to meet my shoulder.

  “Yes,” I breathed softly.

  “But not by him?” His lips were at my neck and his tongue snuck out to lick from s
houlder to below my ear.

  “No.” I didn’t know why we were having this conversation. It wasn’t like Merek was going to kiss me. He made it clear he didn’t want to, and while I thought it strange, I also strangely understood his reason. A kiss was personal. My kiss with Rod had been impersonal enough for me to know I didn’t want to do it again. To my surprise, Merek nipped the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

  “Did his kiss feel like this?” His gravelly tone was low as his mouth continued its travels under my ear.

  “No.”

  “Did his kiss feel like the other night?” That seductive tone made my body tremble. “When I came at you from behind?” His body shifted and the warmth of him pressed against me. I couldn’t believe I was turned on by his voice, distracting me from how I physically felt otherwise.

  “No,” I exhaled.

  “I plan to do that again. And again,” he muttered into my ear between gentle nips of my lobe. While my head should have been in the seduction he was attempting, my mind flipped back to my original question. The pressure of my headache overruled the slow building desire of my body.

  “What if you call me and I’m not in the mood, and I tell you no. Do you make the offer to someone else? Is that how booty calls work?”

  The loss of him was immediate. He released my side and rolled away from me. I didn’t turn to look at him, feeling safer in asking my questions while I couldn’t see his face. We remained silent and I expected him to leave. I really believed that’s what he was about to do. He’d made a house call, booty call, and he wasn’t going to get what he came for.

  “No, it’s not how it works. Or maybe it does work that way for others.” Shifting behind me, his hands returned to my lower back.

  “Is that what happened last night?” I couldn’t let it go. I had to know if he’d been with someone else when I turned him down. In my heart, it would be a deal breaker. I’d have to move on.

  “Emme,” he exhaled into my neck and slipped his arm over my side. He pulled his body flush to mine again. “No, that’s not what happened last night.” He sighed. “And as long as we are being honest, if I called, and you said no, I’d just keep calling back.”