Her Teddy Bear

by Mimi Strong

  I was all worked up.

  I was high and mighty.

  Feeling powerful, I punched in the number for my sister's office, and when the receptionist picked up, I said, “Naomi calling for Trevor MacIntyre.”

  “Is he expecting your call?”

  “Yes,” I said, without hesitating. (Answering yes to that question was a reflex by now.)

  He said, “Trevor here.” He sounded so gruff, so business-like, that I lost all my cool and hung up.

  Yup, I hung up.

  Then I stared at my phone and said, “Oh shit, oh shit.”

  It started to ring. “Shit!” I jumped up from my desk.

  One of my coworkers, Chad, walked by and said, “Loving the new hair, Naomi. Is there something wrong with your phone?”

  “Chad, do you fuck on the first date?”

  He shrugged and said, “If both parties are willing, then HELL yes.”

  “And do you go on a lot of second dates?”

  He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, then he just walked away without answering.

  I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “It's you,” he said.

  “Hi Trevor. So nice of you to call.”

  There was a pause, and then he let out a low chuckle. “I guess it was about time I called, wasn't it?”

  “Mm hmm.” I used one of my collection call tactics, which was to not say much. This worked well for a first collection call, especially if the other person had a guilty conscience. The less you say, the more likely they're going to confess all.

  “That movie's still playing,” he said. “I really wanted to see it.”

  “We could go Friday.”

  Another pause.

  He voice rose a little, sounding constricted, and he said, “I guess I could swing by your house and pick you up half past seven? There's an eight o'clock showing.”

  No dinner. Hmm. I didn't say anything.

  “Naomi?”

  “Sure. Friday. Half past seven.”

  “Listen, Naomi, I … uh ...”

  “I'm at work,” I said. My coworker Chad had returned to my desk with a coffee for me. Loud and business-like, I said into the phone, “Well, I should let you go. Thanks for that. Talk to you soon,” and I hung up.

  Chad raised one eyebrow. “Second date?”

  I accepted the coffee and invited Chad all the way into my cubicle. In a hushed voice, I told him everything that had happened between me and Trevor. Chad was gay, but he was a man, so I hoped he'd have some insight.

  When I finished, he said, “Tell me more about his hairiness. Like, when he had his pants off, did it look like he was still wearing pants? Furry pants?”

  I smacked Chad on the elbow. “No!” He grinned at me. I said, “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “You're a bear lover.”

  “He was very cuddly.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “I hardly know him. But … yeah. I like him. He's an adult, you know?”

  “Ooh, he's a Daddy.”

  I pushed Chad back. He was squatting, to be eye-level with me on my chair, and he tipped back onto his butt, laughing uproariously.

  “Don't be lewd!” I said, laughing. “He's not a Daddy or a bear, he's just a person. Don't sexualize and objectify him like that.”

  He got up and dusted himself off. “Whatever he is, take lots of mental pictures on your second—” he made air quotes “—date!”

  “And tell you all about it? Like tell you about his enormous … shoes?”

  Chad got all serious and said, “Maybe I should call someone I know for a second date.”

  Despite having my doubts about how Trevor was feeling, I got caught up in Chad's effervescence and said, “I'm seeing him Friday. You could line up a date as well, and on Monday we'll take an extra-long coffee break to discuss.”

  Chad seemed to ponder this. He already had his phone out as he walked away from my desk.

  I turned back to my pile of paperwork and my full email inbox and tried to remember why I was there. I had work to do, but all I wanted to do was re-play my date with Trevor and imagine the possibilities of our next one.

  When he'd climbed in over me, inside his truck, I never knew I could feel so aroused. Yeah, I get horny from time to time, but I'd never dated someone who turned me on like Trevor. I'd never been with someone so manly. And it wasn't just the body hair or his large stature or deep voice, but he just exuded this sense of … strength. I'm strong too (for my size), and willful, but his strength came with a different energy. He really was like a bear, wasn't he?

  For the first time, I totally understood why some gay guys like bears. Bears are big, and there's lots to hang onto and climb on, and they're just so …

  I had to stop thinking about it.

  My labia were all swollen with excitement and sweating with feminine moisture. Everything was slippery, and I couldn't take my mind off Trevor, nude, in the tub and in his bed and even in his vehicle. Oh, that big, yummy cock of his. I wanted to lick it, put it in my vag, then lick it some more. I wanted to put a collar on it (I saw one on a leash in an art photo a while back and it's stuck in my brain) and keep it as a pet.

  * * *

  Friday rolled around. Aunt Flo was gone, and I was so nervous about seeing Trevor that I barely slept Thursday night.

  I took two hours to get ready, shaving, tweezing, buffing—the whole deal. I gave myself a manicure and a pedicure. I powdered everything and wore new underwear, bought special for the date.

  Summer had definitely ended, and it was sweater season, but I wanted to show some skin. I settled for some cords and a lacy tank top with a built-in bra and slender straps, underneath a light-weight cardigan.

  Dad, who was drinking an after-dinner coffee at the counter in the kitchen, whistled appreciatively for me, and my mother paced around the sink and stove area, twisting her hands and fidgeting with a tea towel.

  I told her, “Stop planning the wedding. I know you like Trevor, but this is just our second date.”

  “Spring weddings are nice,” she said. “You beat the rush. People are so busy in the summer.”

  I got a glass and had some water, trying to act casual, but feeling like a nervous mess inside. I wished I had the confidence my mother did, that this guy was the one and I was simply reeling him in. I was in no way ready to get married, but Trevor was clearly not afraid of commitment, having already been married. Then again, maybe he'd be more scared off of such things, with the divorce and all. Doubt crept in and made me sweat.

  “Shouldn't you guys be heading to the lake?” I asked.

  Dad looked at me over his coffee. “Reckon we'll leave in about half an hour.”

  “Don't leave it too late. You get tired on the drive.” I took another sip of my water.

  Mom glanced at Dad, then me. “Why so eager to get rid of us? You planning to entertain Trevor in your bedroom? That bed's only a double.”

  I damn near spit out my water. “Mom!”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He's such a tall man,” she said. “How tall is he?”

  The doorbell rang.

  I said, “Why don't you ask him yourself?”

  She dropped the tea towel from her hands and ran for the door, getting there well ahead of me.

  When I got to the door, she was feeling one of his biceps.

  “Mother!”

  She ducked her head and ran past me into the house.

  “I'm sorry,” I said to Trevor. “My sister and I didn't date at all in high school, so technically you're the first guy to come pick up one of her daughters for a date.”

  “She seems enthusiastic,” he said, grinning. He must have shaved recently, because his beard was gone. I was surprised by how attractive his bare jaw was, with just the smallest cleft in his chin.

  “Your beard is gone,” I said, waiting for him to respond with a comment about my hair. It had been blue and black and long before, and now it was short, and spicy shades of b
rown.

  He rubbed his chin and said, “I wasn't intending to have a beard before. I just stopped shaving one day, and a beard happened.”

  “I guess you got back on the shaving bandwagon.”

  He looked past me, over my shoulder. “What does your mother do for a career?”

  “She's an elementary school teacher. With the little ones.”

  “Ah,” he said, as though that explained everything, and then, “Hello, sir!”

  My father was there, shaking his hand. I introduced them and stood patiently as my father asked him questions he already knew the answers to. My father noticed the truck and the two of them had a ten-minute conversation about gas mileage, which was odd, but not bad.

  I stopped my father just short of taking poor Trevor out to our garage, saying, “You guys should get going to the lake, and we have a movie to make.”

  They shook hands again, and my mother came out to wave goodbye.

  “So embarrassing,” I muttered on the way to the truck.

  Trevor opened the door for me, and I climbed in using the running board to step up easily. Something struck me as different, and I figured it out in the space of time it took for Trevor to walk around to his side.

  “Did you install that step?” I asked him when he got in. “That step wasn't there last week, was it?”

  “It was on my to-do list and I finally got around to it.”

  He seemed cool toward me, and I wanted to ask him about a million questions, from why did he rush me out last Saturday to why didn't he phone me, but I took another tactic and waited for him to make the first move.

  We made small talk about the chilly autumn weather, and then, at the movie theater, we talked about movies and the terrible amount of fat that's in theater popcorn but how we crave it anyway, and then we had a long discussion about where was the prime spot to sit in a movie theater. I've always picked a seat as close to the middle as possible. Trevor said he liked to be near the middle, but along the aisle, so he could stand and get out of the way if someone needed to get past him.

  We were seated at this point, with him on the end seat by the aisle, and I had to laugh that his knees were practically touching the seat ahead of him. I stood and pretended to trip over his legs, joking that I'd fall into his lap.

  When I sat back down next to him, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and then on the mouth. We kissed for a moment, until I got self-conscious about all the people filing in around us and pulled back.

  Just like that, he'd ignited my fire.

  I wanted to do more than kiss him.

  The movie started, and it was way too long. I couldn't wait to get Trevor out of there. Part of me wanted to stick my hand down his pants in the middle of the dark theater, but the sensible part of me told me to stay calm, play it cool, and don't be so easy.

  When the movie finally ended, and the lights came back up, he turned to me and said, “Naomi. Something's different. Why'd you change your hair?”

  I countered with, “What did you think of the movie?”

  The showing hadn't been very crowded, and the people in our row went out the other way, so he didn't have to stand to let anyone out.

  Sitting there, he repeated, smiling, “Why'd you change your hair?”

  I blew air out of my lips. “Because I thought you'd like it better this way.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You're not mad that I didn't notice when I came to pick you up? I mean, I saw that you looked really pretty, and you smelled so good, but I couldn't figure out what was different until that girl in the movie got her hair cut.”

  “I thought you were a details-oriented kinda guy.”

  “I am. But I guess I'm blind about certain things.”

  “Apparently.”

  People were still filing out of the theater, while the credits rolled on the screen. I wanted to ask Trevor if he actually liked me or if he'd just taken me out a second time to keep my sister from killing him, but I didn't want to hear the answer if it were the latter.

  He said, “How'd you like the movie?”

  “It was good,” I lied, my voice pitching up from the fib.

  He laughed. “I know. So bad. But the trailer looked so good.”

  “The trailer is not the movie.”

  “No, it isn't. But it gets you excited, about what could be.”

  I considered the differences between a trailer and a movie, a date and a relationship. “You have to trust your gut,” I said.

  “Don't you mean your heart?”

  At the mention of heart, mine started to beat faster. Maybe it was the intense look Trevor was giving me. “If you trust your heart.”

  He broke away from my gaze and wiped some stray popcorn off his lap. “That word, trust. I don't know.”

  “What don't you know?”

  He got up and brushed away the rest of his popcorn, then reached a hand down for mine. “Should we get a drink or something?”

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  Back in his truck again, we drove around looking for somewhere to have a drink. The clubs I'd normally go to with friends were too loud, and the idea of going to a fancy hotel lobby in my casual clothes wasn't appealing.

  “My parents have gone to the lake for the weekend,” I said.

  “Right. Your dad was saying that.”

  “We can have a drink at my place.”

  He glanced over at me, his face lit by the dashboard lights. “Your parents won't mind?”

  “I won't tell them.” I gave him my flirty smile.

  “Your hair looks damn good.”

  At the mention of the word damn, my pulse began to race. I remembered him saying damn as I'd sucked on him, and damn when we'd had sex. That word was really ringing my bell.

  I'd enjoyed kissing him and having him kiss me all over my body with the beard, but now that he was clean-shaven, I was dying to feel his skin on mine.

  I stared at him as he drove. He was a good driver. He glanced over at me with his orange-brown eyes, still bright even in the dim vehicle interior. We were going to my house. I thought about him holding me in his strong arms, and I didn't care that I didn't know where we stood with each other, I just melted.

  * * *

  He wanted scotch.

  Of course.

  Luckily, my father is also a man's man, and we had a good bottle of the stuff, or so I'd been told.

  I poured a little for each of us, into tumblers, and we sat in the TV room, where less than a week earlier I'd inhabited the same couch and bawled my eyes out that this date wouldn't happen. And yet, there we were. Life is funny that way.

  I said, “Has Nikki been giving you a hard time at the office?”

  He sipped the amber liquid. “I don't think so. She's a hard worker, and very responsible.”

  “I mean about me.” I nudged his thigh with my knee and moved in closer. I wasn't going to sleep with him, not again, but we could kiss. Kissing would be nice.

  “Oh, that. Yes, she did. She reamed me a new asshole that I didn't call you before you called me.”

  I stared into my drink, unsure if I wanted to know the answer, but I asked anyway, because life is short and it's better when you speak your heart. “And why didn't you call me?”

  He shifted his position on the couch next to me. “I don't know.”

  “Why did you rush me out of your place the morning after?”

  “I don't ...” He leaned forward and put his face in his hands briefly. “Damn, can't we get to this after a few drinks?” He sat up and turned to me, his warm brown eyes sad-looking.

  I said, “Did I do something to upset you?”

  He shook his head, no.

  I thought back to what he'd said about movie trailers not being like movies. “Am I your first date since your divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  I squeezed his leg. “I don't bite. You can talk to me.”

  He took an audible, deep breath. “Talk. Right. I remember that one from my wif
e. Talk, talk, talk. Talk about your feelings.” He turned and gave me the sweetest look. “I'm great at talking when it comes to business, but not with relationships.”

  “Who says? Your ex?”

  He nodded.

  “I saw her photo on your phone. I didn't say anything at the time, but would you say she looks … just a little … like me?”

  I braced myself for the worst.

  He faced me, pain flickering across his face. “A little. But I'm getting to see you now. When I look at you, I see Naomi.” He stroked me on the cheek.

  “Do you like being here with me?”

  He took another sip of his scotch, then set it on the coffee table.

  “I do. I really like it.”

  “So, let me get this straight. It's the talking that makes you nervous, but not the other stuff.”

  He chuckled. “The other stuff is great. I mean, damn. It's great. And I do like talking to you. You're a good listener, and you're interesting, and you have such a pretty laugh, and … am I boring you?”

  “No, but I'm wondering if you're ever going to kiss me.”

  He took the glass of scotch from my hand, set it next to his on the coffee table and leaned in to kiss me on the lips, softly. As I kissed him back, he reached his arms around me, and in a flash, he had me picked up and was standing.

  I wrapped my legs and arms around him, holding on tight.

  He carried me back out of the TV room and down the hall, to my bedroom. I'd given him a quick tour when we'd entered the house, so he knew where it was.

  He lay me down on my bed and stretched out alongside me, and we kissed, entwining our hands in each other's hair, for ages and ages. My desire for him grew stronger, but it was a comfort, the pang in my loins. Reassuring.

  Finally, when we could wait no longer, we slowly undressed each other. I'd sworn I wouldn't sleep with him, but I couldn't remember why, so I forgot all about that resolution. He checked that I was on birth control and apologized for not asking sooner. I kissed him to remind him we need not be talking.