The Do-Over

by Julie A. Richman

  Laynie was approaching as I pulled the bathroom door shut behind me and cocked her head to the side with a questioning look.

  “Don’t ask.” I practically growled at her. “You made me come to this thing and now you owe me dinner. A really, good dinner. One that ends in chocolate and has lots of red wine.”

  Quickly, I looked around for Jill to see if she’d like to join us, but she had apparently already left. As we walked out of the salon room, I was still muttering. “I can’t believe I have to find a new dentist now.”

  My post-divorce dating life had officially begun.

  Chapter 6

  The only positive to come out of the condo’s social was seeing all my gorgeous, fit neighbors, who served as the perfect incentive to get my butt out of bed an hour earlier each morning and drag myself to the gym, coffee or no coffee. Located right in my building, a mere elevator ride away, I had no excuse not to be going on a regular basis. I just needed to build it into my daily schedule and commit to it. My not-quite-size-ten body, standing out amongst a sea of fours, was enough shame-motivation to get me there. I didn’t need to be a size four, but if my tens fit comfortably again, I knew that would be a huge boost to my self-esteem. And if somehow I ended up a size eight, well, watch out dating world, Tara might just learn how to flirt.

  The treadmill next to Jill Presley was open and I parked my water bottle, phone, headphones and a towel in the compartments on the machine’s console.

  “Did you have fun at the social last week?” she spoke with full control of her breath and had barely broken a sweat as she maintained a steady pace.

  “Ugh, no.” I began my warm-up. “Had a weird experience. I hope it’s not a foreshadowing of my dating future. I looked for you a little bit later on in the evening, but you were already gone.”

  “Yeah, I’m on the social committee, so I just stayed a little while to make sure everything was in place.” Increasing her speed, Jill’s easy strides remained steady. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “About a year and a half,” I choked out, already out of breath.

  “Five years for me.” Jill’s smile was the tell-all. She did look happy. And healthier than when she’d been Scarlett’s teacher. She now had a great, short pixie cut, which only women with gorgeous bone structure can pull off, her weight was down by at least twenty-five pounds and she was wearing the cutest pink tie-dye sports bra with matching Capri leggings. Suddenly my RISD Nads tee-shirt and Nike running shorts seemed like a poor choice, sort of like showing up for a dinner in jeans to find all the other women in cocktail dresses.

  “That’s such a cute outfit,” I couldn’t help but comment.

  “Thanks. It’s C-Kicker. This brand is a Godsend. I can’t even tell you how much I love it.”

  I wondered if it was a Godsend because it wicked away moisture or looked cute and gave her a great ass. Describing clothes as a Godsend seemed a little odd.

  The look on my face must’ve betrayed my thoughts.

  “C-Kicker is a line of sports clothing for women who have had breast cancer. They’ve designed it for post-surgery comfort and for women who have prosthetics. They’ve really thought through all the details with this line. I know they’ve worked with actual breast cancer patients to design it,” she explained.

  Losing my stride, I stumbled for a moment, fighting to stay upright and get my feet planted correctly back on the running deck. Jill’s news made my stomach muscles cramp, as I literally felt sick for her.

  “I just celebrated three-years cancer free,” she delivered the news with a smile.

  “Oh my God, Jill, I had no idea, but I’m so glad you are doing well now. Did this all happen after your divorce?”

  “No, the initial diagnosis, lumpectomy, and first round of radiation and chemo happened prior to the divorce.”

  I was floored. Did this douche actually leave his wife when she was in the throes of dealing with breast cancer? And I thought Frank had been a dick. He was a prince compared to this creep.

  “Yeah, but we’d been disintegrating for a long time before my diagnosis,” she explained. “He was around through the first round, but his demeanor and negativity were just not what I needed when I was fighting for my life.”

  As her words sunk in, I realized just how fortunate I was. Perspective. Get some, Tara.

  “Divorcing Lee and freeing myself from a situation that was making me miserable ended up being an incredible turning point for me. Just a few months after the divorce was finalized, I met the most wonderful man. His name is Ben and we were only together for few months when I had a recurrence and went through my mastectomy.” She slowed the speed on her machine to begin her cool down.

  “Oh Jill, I am so sorry.”

  “It was a rough time. But Ben was my rock through it and has been ever since. The man is my biggest cheerleader.”

  And then, as if reading my thoughts, she smeared the icing on the cake.

  “There are still some good ones out there, Tara, and I think we make better choices the second time around. We’re smarter now. We know what to look for and what we want.”

  “And we know when to run,” I piped in.

  “Exactly. So, even if the social we had here didn’t work for you, just get yourself out there. Get online, join clubs, download the dating apps, put yourself in places where you can meet men with similar interests. I’m living proof that there are still great guys to be found.” Jill took a swig from her water bottle. “This is just the beginning for you, Tara.”

  I didn’t realize I really needed to hear those words.

  Chapter 7

  I’d only agreed to meet him for coffee. My last three dates had some special kind of language processing disorder where the words, “Let me take you to dinner,” actually meant, “You owe me sex.” I figured a cup of coffee wouldn’t even be worth a blow job. Especially since I’d only ordered a small drip. No caramel, no whipped cream, no nothing. Just a small cup of drip with a splash of half and half. No callouses on my knees for a simple cup of coffee, right?

  An IT guy for a large law firm in the city, this guy was genuinely handsome. Really, really handsome, in a clean-cut Preppie kind of way. Unfortunately, his hot quotient was the converse and that was directly tied into his personality, or lack thereof. I was fighting for topics where we could get past two exchanges before the dead air moved back in and claimed the moment. And he didn’t get my jokes. Not a good thing. Not a good thing at all.

  I had spent hours filling out the PerfectDate.com questionnaire with both Laynie and Scarlett looking over my shoulders.

  ✓ Like poached eggs soft, medium, hard (Seriously? Is this guy going to cook for me?)

  ✓ Prefer sitcoms over drama (Already picturing a couch potato moving in)

  ✓ Religion is not at all, slightly, somewhat, extremely important to me

  ✓ I like a man who acquiesces, stands up to me, dominates me

  ✓ I enjoy trying new 5 star restaurants over casual dining (If he thinks chains are gourmet, we’ve got problems)

  ✓ My style is to cater to a man, share responsibilities, sit back and be pampered

  I made Scarlett leave the room for the intimate questions which were surprisingly specific.

  ✓ Will you perform oral sex on a man?

  ○ If yes,

  ◘ Do you swallow

  ◘ Spit

  ◘ Complete the act prior to your partner’s orgasm

  ◘ Depends (Okay, I’ll go with this nice noncommittal answer)

  ✓ Please check your three (3) favorite sexual positions:

  ○ Missionary

  ○ Doggie (did they really type that?)

  ○ From behind on all fours

  ○ From behind bent over

  ◘ Will you allow your partner to insert a finger in your anus while in this position? (Hell yes!)

  ○ On top

  ◘ Facing partner

  ◘ Breasts fondled

  ◘ Facing away

&nb
sp; ○ Anal

  ◘ On Back

  ◘ On All Fours

  Would all of the above and then some be a bad answer, I wondered.

  “A finger up your ass. My little Tara is a kinkpot. Who knew?” Laynie teased as she poured herself another glass of red wine.

  “Keep that up, bestie, and I’m going to send you to Scarlett’s room and you won’t get to see the rest of my answers. And we haven’t even gotten to the sex toys section yet.” I, too, poured myself another glass of red wine. We still had four more pages of sex questions to get through.

  Nodding as she regarded me through slitted eyes, Laynie laughed. “Now the truth will finally come out about the nipple clamps.”

  Nearly spitting my wine on the keyboard, I threatened, “Keep it up and I’ll pull that third doll out of the drawer and dye her hair red.”

  Sitting back in her chair and crossing her long yoga pants clad legs, Laynie let me finish the questionnaire in silence.

  So, after hours of answering their probing questions, pun so intended, I wondered two things as I sat across from this man, who clearly was not a love connection, just as my past four dates had not been. The first thing that vexed me was: Do they even use the data they collect and How do these guys perfect their online persona (and phone, too) so well and turn into duds when you meet them in the flesh? Were they all taking some how-not-to-come-across-like-a-loser-before-they-meet-you course?

  “I have an early morning tomorrow, Todd,” I told my date.

  “Let me walk you to your car.”

  As he took our garbage from the table to the trash, I shook my head as I admired his tall, well-built frame. What a waste. His build was naturally athletic and I’m sure he turned a lot of women’s heads. It had just been such a struggle all night to keep the conversation moving. I was exhausted. Talking to another person should never be that much work.

  “Nice car,” he commented, running his hand reverently down the hood as if he were stroking the leg of a woman in fine silk stockings. It was kind of creepy.

  “Thanks. I like it.” Actually, I loved my Audi S5, but I was afraid if I told him that, he’d divulge some strange car kink and I’d never be able to look at my car the same way again.

  “Powerful engine,” he continued to stroke the car.

  “Oh yeah, it’s a beast.” I hit my clicker to unlock the door. Todd’s hand was on the handle to open it and I thought, even though he is not my type, what nice manners he has. That thought was fleeting as I quickly found myself pinned up against the car with Todd alarmingly close.

  “Have you had sex in it yet?” His smile was a leer.

  Alarms were starting to sound in my head as the man’s hand slipped around my hip and up the back of my skirt, pulling me into him and his sizable erection. The car really had turned him on!

  “I’d like to be the one to help you steal your car’s virginity.” His eyes and smile told me this guy was dead serious, like together we were going to be partners in committing some forbidden vehicular sex crime.

  “If you don’t take your hand off my butt and back off, I’m going to hit the panic button on my key fob.”

  Not moving, the man actually looked offended that I was rejecting his proposition.

  “Now!” There was no doubt in my tone that I was not joking.

  Removing his hand, Todd backed away enough for me to open the door, slip in and lock it. Without even bothering to buckle my seatbelt, my foot firmly bore down on the accelerator, harnessing the full capacity of 333 horsepower to get the hell out of there and leave that jerk in the dust.

  Where the hell did he get off? Ugh. He was getting off on my car.

  “I’ll take care of you, baby.” I patted my steering wheel before cutting across three lanes to make a last-minute right turn. What the hell was it with the men I was dating? Was I giving off some pheromone or something? My last date propositioned our barely legal waitress to have a three-way with us after trying to look down her shirt the whole night.

  One more block, and the landmark I desperately needed to see was lighting up the night sky. Appearing like a beacon guiding me to safety was the sign for the gas station in my grocery store’s parking lot. And yes, it had a 24-hour car wash.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” I said to my car. “I’m going to get that nasty man’s grubby germs off you and we’ll both feel so much better.” Pulling up to the automated pay station, I chose the Super Deluxe with undercarriage cleaning, needing every inch of the exterior of my car scrubbed. Not only did he violate me, the man violated my car. He touched her and she gave him a hard-on. Gross!

  As the water, soap and cleansing strips repeatedly pelted the car, obscuring my view out the window, I reveled at being hidden in my own bubble under the bubbles, if only for a few minutes. I had truly forgotten, or maybe just repressed, how hard it was to date. And it was in that moment that I decided to get off the websites, delete the apps and just let it happen organically. If I met someone, great. If not, so what – no big deal. I would be just fine alone. Actually, it would be preferable to suffering through another one of these dates.

  Ten minutes later I was home. As I rode the empty elevator up to my floor, I was relieved that Scarlett was at her father’s for the night and that I wouldn’t have to recap my date for her, leaving out the only interesting part of the evening. Peeling off my clothes and leaving a trail in my wake that led to the bathroom, I couldn’t get into the shower fast enough. Standing under a stream of hot water with soap bubbles running down my arms and legs, I treated myself to a cleansing similar to the Audi’s, including my undercarriage where that creep had planted his unwanted hand.

  “Oh my God,” I said to no one and began laughing. “This is my life.” I continued to chuckle as I mentally recapped my new disastrous dating experiences. It was indeed amusing and I knew I’d be cracking up when I recounted it to Laynie. The only thing I could do was laugh and move on.

  As I crawled under my covers, I checked my email one last time. There was a message there from a man from one of the dating sites. Skimming it, he looked good on paper, but they all did. Exec, 42, divorced, tired of the dating scene, hates sushi (Okay, that was a plus). Basically, he had the same generic stuff as everyone else, but what caught my eye was his picture. If this picture was real, then this guy was one of the hottest men I’d ever laid eyes on. He looked like he could be Rob Lowe’s brother. Literally, more than Rob Lowe’s brother did. What a hottie!

  Sorry. Your timing is off. I decided tonight that I am done with internet dating, I responded.

  His reply was almost instantaneous. That’s only because you haven’t met me.

  LOL… yeah, yeah, yeah… I messaged back and surprised myself when I realized I was smiling.

  A minute later my private message inbox dinged. Really, don’t give up yet. At least not until after we’ve met.

  Sorry, this dating thing is just not working for me. But as I looked at his picture, I felt totally shallow for wanting to look into the blue eyes of this dark-haired god across a pillow upon waking. Is this your real picture? I boldly asked.

  Yes. And it’s pretty recent. It was shot a few months ago at Bethpage Black.

  ☺ I recognized the clubhouse. I was so proud of myself.

  Do you golf?

  No. It was the ex’s favorite public course.

  ☺ It’s everyone’s favorite public course. How long are you divorced?

  Fairly recently. Just coming on two years. How about you?

  I was married for a very short time, a long time ago.

  Do you have kids? I asked.

  No. You?

  Yes, I have a teenage daughter.

  Do you have custody?

  Joint.

  How’s it working out? Has she adjusted?

  I was amazed this man was actually asking me about my kid. None of the others were at all interested in knowing about her or how she was doing in the wake of a divorce. For the most part, yes. She’s a very go with the flow k
ind of kid.

  That’s good. At least that’s one stressful thing you don’t have to worry too much about. I’m Matthew, btw.

  Hi Matthew, I’m Carissa. The minute I typed it, I asked myself why? Why did you do that? I hadn’t lied to any of the other men, but I also hadn’t been so attracted to any of the others. Was my attraction to his photo making me want to protect myself? I really couldn’t figure out why I had made up the name. Maybe I needed to stay anonymous a little longer after tonight’s debacle of a date.

  So, you’ve hit a string of bad dates, Carissa?

  You could say that. Understatement.

  I’d like to help you erase those bad memories. I’ll bet you would, I snickered.

  Yeah, well. I need to think about that.

  Think about this… I showed up tonight, just at the right time. It’s a sign.

  You’re a smooth one, huh!

  LOL… honestly, I’m pretty hairy.

  Laughing at his joke, I looked at his picture again. He was very masculine looking and I could see the 5 o’clock shadow beginning. Despite that, he was very well groomed. With almost black hair and steel blue eyes, the man was striking. What the heck was a guy like this doing on a dating site?

  Damn, I had just made this decision not to internet date and the cutest guy on the web shows up trying to get me to change my mind. Somehow, I had the distinct feeling he was going to be persistent.

  I need to get some sleep, Matthew. It was nice talking to you. You were definitely the highlight of my evening.

  Same here, Carissa. I look forward to speaking again. I hope I get the chance.

  As I plugged my phone in to charge and set it down on the night table, I wondered if maybe one more shot at this dating thing could be the one that turned it all around. What if I walked away from the chance to meet the guy I was supposed to be with?

  Drifting off to sleep, I was already hoping that when I woke, waiting for me would be a personal message from Matthew, continuing our conversation.

  One of the things I’d learned in life was to expect it when you least expect it and after my most unpleasant date, ending the evening on such a pleasant note was highly unexpected.