by Ava Michaels
My sarcasm increased.
“It’s just my grandma… She’s been really sick, like in the hospital and stuff. I just feel like I need to keep checking for messages from home… I’m sorry.”
And the Oscar goes to… Olivia Spurgeon... The Virgin.
I half-expected Michael Tunde to have some sarcastic comeback, intended to embarrass me just a bit in front of the class, maybe enough to bring me back to his office to girlishly apologize again. This seemed to be a real hobby of professors, embarrassing the students who were falling asleep or texting, or what have you. Not this time. I had nailed it. I went all Donkey Kong on him, sort of.
“Okay, Olivia. That’s not a problem… I uh, just wanted to make sure you were paying attention, not just texting some boyfriend or something,” he smiled. “And I wish your grandmother the best.”
I smiled shyly and affected a look of preoccupied but complete concentration.
“Thanks, Michael.”
There were some titters and giggles as class resumed. The last thirty minutes couldn’t end quickly enough.
………
I nearly broke an ankle racing down the stairs and out the door of Emery Hall. I needed to pace myself here as far as the excitement factor went. I knew a pretty easy route to Big Stick’s apartment from the campus, and I probably had five blocks of downtown Hanover and five blocks of tree-lined roadside before I got there.
Wait, I told myself. What was I doing? I was literally counting the blocks as I half-jogged towards this guy’s apartment, my messenger bag bouncing against my side. This wasn’t the way I was supposed to be acting. Every time a girl did this in a romantic comedy I had been forced to watch, I sneered or just turned the thing off. Didn’t mama tell me that only fools rush in?
It didn’t matter. I consciously slowed my pace and tried to think of some small errand I could run on the way that would delay me just a little, just enough to not make it painfully obvious that I had darted out of class as fast as I could.
Wine, I thought. Wine was the answer. What were dinner and a movie without wine? Although I was positive that he probably had not only thought of this provision, but also probably had a fully-stocked bar at his place, it seemed both a nice gesture, and a time-waster. It was just what I needed.
I came to a halt outside a little corner store just past the downtown area called “The Grapevine.” It was a Monday night, so there was only a little frat boy traffic going in and out. I saw just a few fellas picking up some beer, whiskey, Mad Dog 20/20 or whatever it was they needed to get their solitary “drink on”. Then there were the classy gents picking up Schnapps or some other equally sweet ingredients for cocktails intended to corrupt the girls from a neighboring apartment.
When confronted with the store’s intimidating wine section, I was presented with another self-conscious quandary: which wine would I buy? Also though, why did I care so much? Would I search out what I thought to be the perfect wine for Big Stick given what little I knew of his upbringing, taste in movies, and the limited knowledge I had of his taste in food? Or would I brazenly, unpretentiously just grab the cheapest but most palatable bottle I saw and just go with it? Or, maybe the most attractive option was to just choose the wine that I liked the best, Big Stick be damned. He seemed like he might appreciate that.
I chose a blend of the three. It was red Bordeaux from the Three Crazies Winery. Not too pretentious or cheap, but with an alcohol content tantamount to the wild streak in Big Stick, given his taste for whiskey.
$8.99 later, I was on the road again, and it wasn’t ten minutes before I was in front of The Hartford Estates. Big Stick’s place. It was a seriously nice, colonial brick building, outfitted with the latest in front door security, and crawling with vines. Think old style New Hampshire meets Park Avenue swank.
I nearly dropped my bottle of wine when my fingers were moving slowly over all of the individual apartments’ buzzer buttons and his voice blasted into my face from the speaker. How did he know I was here? He must have a sensor for my overly excited vagina.
“Hey, Ol… I’m opening the door. Come on up.”
A quiet tone, much more effete than the metallic buzz I was expecting, came from the door’s control panel, and with a click of the door, I was allowed into The Hartford Estates.
I started feeling self-conscious on my way up the red-carpeted stairs. My feet padded almost silently and I thought it might be nice to take off my shoes and walk bare foot on the carpet that was immaculately clean and looked more comfortable than my apartment bed. I had to look really classy to anyone observing out their peep hole because of the brown-bagged bottle of Bordeaux I was swinging alongside me like a wino, and quickly stuffed it into my bag. Finally, I made it to the fourth floor.
………
I raised and angled my hand, ready to rap on his door but he yet again surprised me by swinging it open and greeting me with that sort of smile that made me think he could see right through my clothes.
“Hey,” he said, ushering me inside.
His place was obscenely nice. I’m talking Ikea catalog all the way. I also saw that he had already taken care of the wine situation, as well as the whiskey situation. I didn’t know how drunk this lothario intended for me to get tonight, but it certainly wasn’t going to extend to more than two bottles of wine and one bottle of bourbon.
“And you brought wine,” he exclaimed cheekily as he closed the door behind me.
“Well, I didn’t want to just show up empty handed. That would be ten different kinds of rude.”
God, I thought, my hands were sweating and my mouth was suddenly dry. I was drawing a blank as to what kind of clever witty things I could say so all that came out was, “You’re place is very coordinated.” What… The… Fuck?
Thankfully, he smiled as he poured a glass of the white wine he had chilling in a bucket.
Then he proceeded to deliver to me a lengthy digression on the superiority of white to red wine, and how his palate had evolved throughout the years. But, when I looked at him after taking in the décor of his apartment he was reciting these facts with his eyes totally crossed.
I burst out laughing. It helped make the awkward go away.
“I’m sorry. I just picked what I liked,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he breathed into my ear, startling me.
“I never was able to stomach much red wine… You’re welcome to drink the bottle if you like though…”
That may not be a bad idea... God, I was so nervous already. He hadn’t even tried to depants me.
After setting my drink down, he took my coat and my bottle of wine and motioned for me to have a seat. The place kept its industrial brick walls which faded down to a maple wood flooring. His living room opened to the left and was one large room with steps leading up to a loft. Underneath his loft was a small little office space with a computer against the brick wall and a window that looked out onto the street. To the right was a small compact little kitchen that was just large enough to fit an island for chopping and holding pots and pans underneath.
He played tour guide for me, something that sounded like he had done many times before, showing me some of the renovation work he had done there. The loft upstairs had a bit of a game room, with a pool table and small TV hanging from the ceiling and from there it led into a modest bedroom that was nearly filled by a large bed.
Of course he said the obligatory “and this is where the magic happens…” and I gave the obligatory eye roll until I realized he was showing me the bathroom. Catching me totally off guard, again I burst out laughing.
Otherwise, it was a very beautiful and classy apartment.
I also couldn't help but wonder what he did to afford a place like this especially in Hanover, so near to the major hospital and campus. That would be rude to ask though, I decided.
“I love this place,” I said out loud.
He grinned and went to hand me the glass of some Pinot Grigio he had chilled. He took his ow
n highball of whiskey and sat down next to me.
“So, do you want to play a game of pool with me?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, but amended with, “but I’m not very good.”
He grinned excitedly.
“That’s okay. I don’t have people over much so I never get to use this thing,” he said, then realized that it sounded a bit sad. “I just don’t have much time and so many of my friends either got married, pregnant, moved away, or whatever else.”
“Well, I’ll be happy to visit and fail miserably at pool any time.” I said.
“I would love that.”
………
We brought our drinks up to the loft and his ‘man cave’. He started racking the pool balls and I looked around. Leather couch, pool table, and a pretty decently sized television hanging from the ceiling with a gaming system attached to it.
“So why does every man need to have a ‘man cave’, and also, why call it a ‘cave’? Do all men consciously know they are Neanderthals?” I said smiling.
"A student of this prestigious university should know, Ol, that there are many varieties of Neanderthals."
I had to admit, he was funny.
"So, little girl, do you feel like letting me show you the ropes? I played a bit back in school."
"Sure," I smiled innocently.
I can't lie - part of the reason I was pretending I didn't know a thing about the game was in hopes that he'd maneuver me into the classic shooting class, the really close up kind. I casually let him enfold me into his arms, his hands guiding mine over the stick, with his strong body warm against mine. I could feel his breath against my neck.
"Oh, so that’s how you do it. Okay, I see now," I'd say quietly to him as he guided me into a shot. They weren't even really good shots, but I acted impressed with his masculinity until I figured it was time to end this charade and show Big Stick what kind of girl I was.
I had solids and Big Stick had stripes, and by the end of the whole thing, he was standing across the table staring at me with what looked like a mixture of shock, awe, and lust. The game of pool was anything but a “game” in the traditional sense. I absolutely took him apart in our match. It started out with me playing just a bit of a "shark." I probably hurt his ego but I was too competitive to think about that while we played. I quickly thought about dinner so he didn’t have time to stew on the fact that I kicked his butt in pool.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked casually, grinning at him.
Apparently, he wasn’t as much of a gourmand as he had seemed in our OKcupid and elevator chats, but that was okay. He had ordered sushi, and for delivery. Yes! I absolutely love sushi!
………
“So, where’d you learn to play like that?” he asked as he gently pushed a pair of chop sticks across the table towards me and gestured for me to dig into the sushi plate.
I settled back into my chair and smiled. This was super elegant, but after totally sharking him at pool, and with a glass of wine in front of me, I felt much more relaxed.
“It’s just something I used to do back in high school for fun, you know… Once my homework was done and all.”
I winked at him playfully. I did not mention that it was my ex-boyfriend Carlos who had taught me how to play. In much the same sensual way that Big Stick had just tried to.
“I see, I see,” he said, dipping a Fancy Maki roll into the tempura sauce.
“How did you get to be twenty eight years old still being so bad at pool?” I grinned. “Make it a good one because there is no real excuse when you’ve got your own table.”
“I’ve always kept myself busy,” he said, laughing. “I like to have a good time, but frat house games have never been my forte.”
………
I was three rolls deep in Idaho Maki and New Hampshire rolls when he asked me if I was in the mood for a movie. It was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. As I mentioned before, I was no fan of the TV series, and it seemed almost like he was busting this DVD out as some sort of slight against me or a practical joke. Once we started watching the movie, a side of me I never knew existed came out, making sarcastic comments on the acting and the costumes.
However, after my second glass of wine, I started to realize that Ricardo Montalban was not only quite handsome but was a great actor and whether or not that broad chest was really his I didn’t care.
“This movie seems so real to me sometimes. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it so much.”
“Likely. No movies seem real to me but whenever people go under water I hold my breath.”
“Seriously? I’ll remember to not watch those movies with you.”
“Seriously… I almost died in Finding Nemo…”
A roll of laughter came out of him. “We’re definitely not watching that then…,” he said, grinning. “Well, Star Trek just really reminds me of when I was a kid and being high school. I mean, I did the normal sports like football, baseball, and basketball but Star Trek is something I have watched for years,” he said, wrapping his arm around me.
I buried my face in his chest. “I was a weird child. I didn’t do sports ever. I worried about my grades and worked. Kids were always like, ‘Omg, I love smokin pot. I get like so drunk. Yolo!'. I was like, 'Crap, I forgot my homework AND to feed my tamagotchi this morning’.”
He looked at me with the strangest look and then busted out laughing again. No one ever laughed at anything I said. I usually got called stupid or annoying. Not Big Stick…
“What?”
“The way you said that was funny.”
Was I stupidly funny? Because I’m sure that plenty of those girls he brought home were… By the looks of them anyway… I didn’t want to be anything like them.
“Thanks.” It’s all I could say. I didn’t want to say anything else that would embarrass me.
“It’s not bad. All the girls I talk to are not funny. Just stuck up and think the world revolves around them.”
“At least I can say I’ve won a competition now,” I said, smiling. “I was always a good teenager. Normal teenagers sneaked out. Me? I sneaked into the kitchen and brought all the food to my room. I guess I was a major nerd. However, I did want a boyfriend but I didn’t get one finally until my junior year in high school. I hated that feeling when everyone around me is in a relationship and I'm awkwardly sitting there like... I love my dog.”
He again busted out laughing but this time completely let loose. My head bounced on his chest... It made me join in.
“You are hilarious. Not that I don’t feel bad for you, I do. I was a nerdy kid even though I played sports. Kids didn’t like me. It really sucks...”
It felt good relating to someone. Really good. I trailed my finger from his midsection to his chest and then back down. I looked at him and smiled.
Suddenly, I felt Big Stick’s hand crawling up my back, his fingers deftly navigating around the workings of my bra strap. He wasn’t pulling at it outright, but I think he was studying the clasp to see if it was something he could disengage. A little research on his part. If I could tie a cherry stem with my tongue, then he should be able to conquer this task.
It wasn’t a sensation I felt like arguing with. It was finally time for my bolder holder to be taken off and release my melons! I was getting overly excited. We were only two thirds of the way through the movie, almost out of maki rolls, and both a couple of glasses of our respective drinks down.
I didn’t even wait for him to initiate things further. I just leaned in and pressed my lips against his. I arched my back, pushing myself into him and enjoying the secure feeling his strong arms gave me as they squeezed me just enough to take my breath away. His hands roamed over my back and before I realized it he had unhooked my bra. It felt good…
“Wait …” I said, pulling back from his deeply sensual kiss. “Look, um…I don’t want things to go too fast. Were you expecting anything fast because I wasn’t? I was hoping for…Um…I …I’m not sure. Do you know what I
mean?”
Shit. I was cock blocking myself again.
“I dunno,” he whispered, breathing heavily and staring into my eyes. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable though, Olivia.”
“Okay,” I said and smiled. “Maybe just… How ‘bout this? Let’s keep our clothes on for tonight? At least until we know each other better?”
Without even a word, Big Stick expertly re-hooked the straps of my bra, and began to kiss me again. I didn’t resist but couldn’t stop thinking about our bodies against each other. The little man in a boat wanted more. There just wasn’t any chance I was going to have sex during a Star Trek movie.
We both made quiet, muffled moans as we devoured each-others’ lips, and I let him rub my back and even run his hand around the front of my shirt, where he started to gently squeeze and rub my breasts. Awesome, I was now at the same level as a high school freshman. Go me!
I felt something bulging through Big Stick’s pants that almost made me give up my virtue right then and there, but I kept my head about myself as we continued to kiss and make out like a couple of teenagers while Star Trek played on the flat screen.
We eventually gave it a rest, still breathing heavily, but as we tried to focus on the movie, my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the substantial lump in his jeans. Every word for the lump ran through my head like a scene in Varsity Blues.
Once the movie was over, we kissed again, much shorter this time. With a shared sense of duty and virtue, we quite literally fell asleep curled up against each other. My first sleepover! Boom! I was moving up in the world!
………
When we awoke, we both gave embarrassed but content little smiles and then Big Stick asked me if I needed to go. I said yes so I could get home and tell everyone the news. He escorted me like a true gentleman to his car and brought me back to my apartment. We didn’t say a word to each other which worried me but maybe he didn’t know what to say. Just sleeping in a guy’s arms was a big step for me… Touching my breasts… Well, that was HUGE.