“They should. I have a degree, a pulse and no criminal record as long as I finish my goddamn community service. Speaking of which, want to go pick up garbage with me for eight hours tomorrow? It will be fun.”
“I’ll pass. Go easy on the goddamns. I don’t think you can curse in front of the kids. Can you handle that?”
“Fuck if I know.”
Epilogue
I lucked out and got a job as a substitute teacher at a school near me. If I performed well, I would get a job as a full-time teacher there whenever a position opened, and I could avoid faxing my resume all over town. My first teaching gig was a fourth grade math class. They were learning the metric system. Evidently schools were still telling kids that America was converting to the metric system. I told them to memorize it for the test then forget it, unless they wanted to race their bikes in Europe, in which case learning kilograms and kilometers could be helpful. The kids seemed to like that. This job could work out for me, I thought.
At lunch hour, I went to the teacher’s lounge. An athletic-looking woman in Adidas shorts, a tank top and a cute pixie haircut was seated at a table. The P.E. teacher, obviously. She had to be gay. I sat down next to her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.
I introduced myself and after we talked for a bit, she got up to leave. I wasn’t overwhelmed by her, but she was cute enough. I figured that even if I didn’t date her, I could probably meet other lesbians through her so I asked her if she wanted to get a drink sometime. “Jesus Christ, I’m not fucking gay,” she responded. That attracted a bit of attention. I waved at everyone and continued eating my sandwich. My face felt hot and I knew it looked like I just got a horrible sunburn.
When I finally had the nerve to look up again, a sexy woman in black slacks and a crisp white blouse was in front of my table. “I’m the resident lesbian around here,” she whispered, almost touching my ear. She was about five-nine, had a great rack, short blond curly hair and a beautiful ass. The term “brick house” came to mind.
“What do you teach?” I asked, already liking her so much more than the P.E. teacher.
“I’m the vice principal.”
“Nice. I need a job,” I said, then added, “I’m Jenna.”
“Monroe.”
“Were your parents fans of Marilyn, James, or the Doctrine?”
“Marilyn,” she said, smiling.
We talked for a bit. Like Andy, the high school teacher my mom had set me up with a year earlier, Monroe was a non-cyclist, a teacher, and lived in St. Petersburg instead of Tampa. Unlike how I felt about Andy, I didn’t give a shit. Within ten minutes Alyssa was a distant memory. The bell rang, and as I was getting up Monroe said, “Hey, I have to go, but do you want to grab a drink some time?”
“I sure would,” I responded.
* * *
Two years later, Danny, Monroe and I were riding towards St. Petersburg after work. Monroe didn’t wear her cycling gloves in spite of the heat because she wanted to show off her new ring. Danny didn’t notice, though he did notice that I’d cleaned her drivetrain. Cyclists are selectively observant. Finally, Monroe couldn’t take it anymore and flashed her bling in Danny’s face.
“Is that an engagement ring?” he asked.
“Yes,” we said in unison.
“How do you decide who proposes?”
“You’re so original. My parents asked me the same question,” I replied, then added, “The only thing more disturbing to my parents than the fact that I’m a lesbian is the idea that I’m the butch one in the relationship, which they deduced by the fact that I proposed.”
“Your parents aren’t really upset are they?” Danny asked.
“Not really. They love Monroe and are really supportive. But I’m sure that deep down, they hope we both meet great guys someday and laugh about this engagement on a double date.”
“So how did you decide who proposed, seriously?” Danny asked.
“It was easy,” I said. “Only one of us gives a shit about the ring. Monroe wanted one, so she got one. Me, on the other hand, who doesn’t care for rings, is the one that shelled out a ton of money.”
“You are getting a ring,” Monroe chimed in from behind. She was drafting, but listening to the conversation.
“Can I get an engagement bike instead?” I asked.
“No,” she responded.
“Did you get on one knee?” Danny asked.
“Not exactly,” I replied.
Monroe started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Danny asked.
“Tell him.” Monroe said.
“I don’t know if he can handle it.”
“I can handle anything,” Danny pointed out.
“Okay,” I said. “Yesterday, in bed, I went down on Monroe and gave her an earth-shattering orgasm.”
“Wow,” Danny said, “maybe I can’t handle this.”
“It gets hotter,” Monroe announced.
“After I got her off, I leaned over into my dresser and got out a Tiffany box. She freaked out, crying with excitement, and opened it and told me how much she loved it without even looking at it. Of course, yesterday was April Fool’s Day, so instead of an engagement ring, the box had my high school ring in it.”
Danny started laughing. “You gave her your class ring in a Tiffany box? That’s a dick move.”
“Exactly,” Monroe agreed. “I told you it wasn’t funny.”
“Danny did just laugh,” I pointed out. “Anyway, once she realized it was a class ring, she got pissed. I told her to relax and that it was just a joke and she told me it wasn’t funny. I told her that it was in fact hilarious, and that all of our friends would think it’s funny. She told me not to tell a soul, let alone her friends, because they’d think I was a huge asshole.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Danny said.
“So, at this point, I’m trying to get her to go down on me, because the real ring, the diamond ring, is in my pussy.”
“Jesus,” Danny said, pretending to nearly crash into the curb.
I continued, “So the ring is down there, but she’s so pissed at me, she won’t go down there, so the joke is lasting way longer than I meant for it to last.”
“You put a Tiffany ring in your pussy?” Danny asked incredulously.
“Not really in it,” I responded. “More on top, resting on the clit. Actually, it was barely resting there and the weight of it made it keep sliding. So I kept putting it back on my clit. Monroe thought I was getting myself off while she was pouting about my prank, so she got even more pissed.”
Danny started cracking up.
“So, she tells me to knock it off. But I couldn’t, because the ring kept slipping out and I wanted it there to surprise her when she finally went down on me. However, she wasn’t getting over it really well. I kept having to put it back and she kept telling me she was upset and to just wait a minute and stop touching myself. At this point, Monroe’s practically crying and I’m absolutely giggling, which is pissing her off even more.”
Monroe moved up from behind our draft to finish the story. “So, I pulled back the covers, and see this jewelry and I immediately think it’s a clit ring, so I scream ‘What the fuck.’ Fortunately, Jenna took the ring out at that point and gave it to me.”
“That is the most fucked up and romantic engagement story I’ve ever heard,” Danny said admiringly.
“You haven’t heard the good part yet,” Monroe pointed out.
“There’s more?” Danny asked.
“A little bit,” I said. “Monroe didn’t like the ring I picked out, so she exchanged it. The pussy ring is back at Tiffany.”
Bella Books, Inc.
Women. Books. Even Better Together.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
Phone: 800-729-4992
www.BellaBooks.com
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Maternity Leave Page 34
