We look at each other and both burst out laughing. A movement catches my eye and I stare over Annika’s shoulder. She turns and claps a hand over her mouth.
“At least someone’s enjoying herself,” she says gleefully. Lani is perched on Kyle’s lap and they’ve locked lips. The whole room watches until Lani pulls herself together and flees the room, looking embarrassed.
“They’re cute together,” I say out loud. “I never thought I’d say it about that big lout but he seems good for her. She’s getting more confident.”
Annika and I sigh and return to contemplating our coffees.
“I guess I just don’t get what the big deal is.” I’ve never actually said that out loud before.
Annika tucks some long blond hair behind an ear. I wish my hair was straight! “Maybe you haven’t met the right person yet. Or the right wrong person,” she adds, frowning. “I guess lust can happen with the totally wrong person too.” Her eyes dart away and her tone is dry.
“Really?” I tease, and she blushes, ducking her head.
“Didn’t Marjorie tell you to work on some physical challenge?” Now it’s Annika’s turn to tease and I’m alarmed.
“You mean work on my sex life as homework? Are you out of your foreign mind?”
She laughs behind her hand. “You could ask Noah for help.”
I splutter and spray coffee all over myself. Annika laughs louder as I dab a napkin over chest, trying to blot the stains on my tee shirt. “Damn you!”
“He might not mind.” Her expression is full of something I don’t want to examine.
“Shut up, Annika!” I jump up from my chair and practically knock it over. I’m a klutz in the best of situations and I’m not at my best now. I shove my arms into my coat, hoping it’s not inside out. “I gotta go. I wish I could say it was nice talking to you!”
“Okay! I get it. You’re not ready!”
That doesn’t even deserve a response so I just glare at her and march out of the coffeehouse with as much dignity as I can, considering I trip over a backpack.
That conversation started a buzzing in my brain that I couldn’t quite shake though. During the long flight to California and the even longer week at home, I wonder: why am I not more interested in sex? Is there something wrong with me? Do I want to be more interested in sex? Ravi is a nice guy, an attractive guy. I’ve slept with him many times. He seems to like it. He seems content with my participation. Not that we’ve ever talked about it. We make out at the movies. Or he comes over, we do it in my room when my parents are out, and he goes home. As I said, what’s the big deal?
There’s really no one to ask about this so I default to Noah. Besides, I miss him. This so-called break has been miserable.
Do you think it’s normal to not be interested in sex?
He texts me back immediately.
???!!!
Then, because he always takes me seriously: In what context?
Teenagers
It’s late at night and he takes so long to answer that I worry I’m going to have to wait til the morning.
Most things are normal in some context.
I call evasion!
OK! Of course it can be normal not to want sex, or have sex—for anyone.
Now I’m silent for a while. I don’t feel as reassured as I thought I would.
Holl? You OK?
I don’t know how to answer. My stomach is roiling. My nerves are jangling. I’m wound up and I don’t know why. Ten minutes later my phone rings.
“Holly! You’re worrying me!” It’s really good to hear his voice and I settle back into my pillows, feeling some of my tension ease.
“Sorry, Noah!” I still don’t know what else to say though and there’s an awkward pause.
“Is this about…Ravi? You’re still seeing him, right?” His voice is strained. I don’t get the impression he thinks much of Ravi. And honestly, I don’t think they’d get along. At all.
“Yeah, I am,” I sigh. “And maybe.” There’s another long uncomfortable pause and I feel bad for putting Noah through this. So I rush into speech, as usual.
“It’s just—you get the feeling we’re supposed to want it all the time, right? And it’s supposed to be hot and passionate, right? I mean, we’re teenagers with raging hormones and sexy young bodies! If not now, then when?”
I hear Noah gasping before I finish and I realize he’s cracking up. “Hey!” I complain. “I’m serious!”
“I know!” He tries to catch his breath and I frown into the phone. “Sorry!” More choking sounds. “Okay! I got this now. You just sounded so aggrieved. Like an anthropologist studying the mating habits of some newly discovered species—”
“I feel like that, Noah! Like I’m on the outside looking in!” I feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes and I’m glad we’re not face to face.
“Aw, Holly. No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’ll figure this out.... You’ve got time.” He sounds serious now, and awkward as hell.
“Wow, I’ve never heard you so inarticulate before. Are those cliché’s you’re spouting? I thought since your folks are shrinks you’d have a genetic gift for this.”
“My mom says I’m, quote, highly gifted in emotional intelligence, unquote.”
I hear the amusement in his voice again. I’m relieved. “I already know that!”
I do. He’s tuned in, perceptive, sensitive, and almost always articulate. I’m not. I have tons of strong feelings, but I’m not good at sorting or naming them. A quiet inner voice pipes up. I don’t even know what I want. With my life, with my boyfriend, with….
“You should be talking to Ravi about this, not me,” he says quietly.
Yeah, that.
“I know.” I do know. “We don’t talk about stuff though. Especially not sex. I can’t talk to him the way I can talk to you.” There’s another long silence and I fear I’ve lost him. “Noah?”
“You should be able to talk to him. You should enjoy…having sex with him.” The words seem torn from him. “That’s all I’m going to say.” He sounds as close to angry as I’ve ever heard him.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask curiously.
“No!” It comes out so forcefully that it must surprise him too. “I just…” I can picture him running a hand through his hair, messing it up more in frustration. “I just don’t like the sound of this! You deserve a hell of a lot better, Holl!”
“You’re the best!” I feel better. In fact, I’m glowing a little inside.
“Get some sleep, Holly!”
“You know I love you, right?”
He grunts and I smile, charmed.
“You love me too, right?”
“Yes! Now get off the phone!” He’s practically growling at me.
“Okay, okay! Thanks, Noah! Talk to you tomorrow!”
7
Noah
If I were prone to cursing or fighting or throwing tantrums that’s what I’d be doing now. Because this sucks. Not only is Holly not sleeping with me, not only is she actually sleeping with someone else, but she wants to talk to me about it. Maybe, maybe, maybe I’d feel worse if she told me the sex was amazing, but probably not—I can’t feel happy when she’s sad. God, now I sound like a cheesy pop song.
And despite the fact that she’s not interested in sex, unfortunately I am. That conversation has me picturing Holly naked, which is not conducive to my peace of mind. And what’s craziest about her bedtime revelations is that she’s so passionate, so sexy! That girl should spend every night moaning through multiple orgasms, not wondering what’s wrong with her! If there was ever a delicious body that deserved to be worshipped it’s hers…. Imagine having all that energy, all that joy, all that amazing overflowing Holly-ness in bed? Not that I can let myself imagine that.
I’m miserable and frustrated but all Rachel does is nag me to talk to Holly already. I talk to her all the time, I retort, and my sister rolls her eyes. I get in a few good digs about the pathetic guys she’s dated sin
ce she broke up with her high school boyfriend and that shuts her up for a while. My parents, being shrinks, know something is up. When they remind me that I can talk to them about anything—even sex—I know I’ve got to do something to redirect them. They’ve always been embarrassing that way.
So I need a distraction and books won’t help me here. I’m mulling this over when I remember Marjorie’s advice about balancing the mental and the physical, the abstract and the concrete. I’ve always enjoyed running but as the weather starts to warm up I decide to train for a marathon and I throw myself into it.
“Why do you want to do this again?” My friend Brian is already out of breath and we’re only on mile four.
I ignore him and concentrate on my footing. There are still icy patches in the running path along the Baltimore waterfront. “Do you think men really have stronger sex drives than women?”
Brian laughs—though it sounds more like he’s wheezing. “There’s a non-sequitur! You mean you’re doing this out of sexual frustration? That would explain a lot.”
I slow down so he can catch up. “No, really.”
“You asking because I’m gay? You know, I actually have no point of comparison.”
“I’m asking because I want to know, moron!” The thump of my shoes on the ground is calming me down. I’m aware of the muscles in my legs, the air in my lungs…in a good way.
“Then yeah! It’s called testosterone! Learn to love it!”
I’d roll my eyes, but he wouldn’t notice. He’s falling behind again. “You’re not checking out my ass, are you?” I ask, getting suspicious. I glance back and see Brian stumble for laughing.
“It’s cute, but I’ve seen better.” Then he’s veering off toward a patch of grass and collapsing on the still-frozen ground. “Fuck, man! I wish I were checking out your ass, but I can’t keep up with you.” His words are coming out in gasps as I drop down next to him. When he’s capable of speech again he says, “Is this about Holly?”
I raise my eyebrows and try to sound completely astonished. “Why would it be about Holly?”
Brian shoots me a look. “Maybe because everything is about Holly now? I mean, it’s just a wild guess.”
And not for the first time, I wish I were the strong, silent type of guy who walks around with his feelings completely under wraps—even to himself. There’s a serious downside to having two psychologists for parents. And a twin sister. And a gay best friend. I know it’s a stereotype but I give in, because it’s faster that way.
“She wants to talk about sex now. Or rather, her sex life,” I groan and drop my head in my hands. I’m so screwed, and not in the good way.
“Aww. Sorry, man!” Brian drops a hand on my shoulder. “I told you to switch to dudes! There’s a lot less talking.”
“I would if I could!”
“Anything new in your sex life?”
There’s a tactful question! I shake my head, feeling very sorry for myself.
“Alright! If this running in circles will cheer you up I’m game—I’ve got my second wind now so watch out!” He jumps to his feet and starts off again at a slow trot. I grin and follow because it’s good to hang out with him again, good to have such friends, and I really have nothing to complain about.
Until later that night, that is, when Holly texts me again. She seems to have this bedtime impulse to talk, which makes things harder, so to speak. Tonight she ups the ante:
So sorry I talked all last night about ME. What about YOU?
I’m nervous about where this is going. Already my body is on high alert just because I’m sprawled on my bed and somewhere, on the other side of the country, she’s sprawled on hers.
What do you mean?
How’s YOUR sex life?
And there it is. The bomb. Dropped. I don’t want to touch it with any kind of pole so I procrastinate. But then my phone rings and I realize that was the wrong move. Now I have to hear her voice too.
“Noah! Have I offended you?” She sounds bright and animated as usual, but also a little anxious.
“No….” I swallow, wondering how to handle this. “I just don’t feel comfortable talking about my sex life.”
“Oh. Why not?”
Leave it to Holly to leave no minefield unexplored. I’m gathering my few wits when she rushes on. “Oh. I get it. You may not feel as close to me as I feel to you. That’s okay.”
I open my mouth to reassure her because I Have To. I wish I could dissemble, prevaricate, even lie to her, but I just can’t. Before I can say a word, though, she’s rushing headlong into the next turn in the road.
“And I’m sure you have an amazing sex life because you’re well adjusted and normal….” I hear a little sniff and I think this is going to be quite a pity party when she takes a deep loud breath as if she’s about to start bawling. And I have to stop her.
“I’m a virgin.” Fuck, did I just say that??
I hear the long slow release of her breath. At least I managed to forestall the crying. I tense, waiting.
“Wow,” she says slowly, and I cringe. “I must say my first reaction is an overwhelming urge to be your first.”
“Why must you say that?” I burst out. She’s so infuriatingly obtuse sometimes. I want to tear my hair out because she’s impossible and I wish I had chosen any other sweet, sexy, smart girl in the world to fall for besides her.
“Wow,” she says again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell before, Noah.”
I grit my teeth. “Holly!”
“It’s okay! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have blurted. I guess we’re both regretting our blurts, huh? Is blurt a noun or just a verb?”
Some of my tension eases a little and I let myself breathe again. “Just a verb.”
“Good to know. And for the record, I only meant that whoever you sleep with will be a lucky, lucky girl. That’s all.”
Somehow she doesn’t make that sound patronizing—she just sounds sincere and warm and totally Holly. Some more of my tension eases.
“Thanks,” I mumble, because I don’t know what to say.
“You’re welcome. I also think…”
Uh oh! There’s more!
“That maybe it’s better to have no experience than bad ones, you know? I mean, in general.”
A new sort of tension escalates. “Holly,” I ask carefully. “What do you mean by bad experiences?” I try to keep my voice even and calm but it’s a real struggle.
“Oh, not really bad ones. I’m sorry, Noah, I shouldn’t worry you. I’m not talking about sex that’s forced or hurts, just sex that’s not actually that good.” She sounds sad and it’s killing me.
“Break up with him!” As soon as the words are out of my mouth and I want them back. I am not a guy who tells women what to do.
She sighs, seemingly oblivious to my moral lapse. “Maybe. We’ve been together for two years though. I’ll have to think about it.”
The conversation returns to normal levels then. We compare notes on our travel plans and arrange to meet up on Sunday when we’re both back on campus. Then we sign off and I lie on my back on my bed for a long time, trying not to imagine.
8
Holly
What is wrong with me? I’m at one of Noah’s deadly dull lectures and my mind is wandering like Odysseus on the wine dark sea. It’s part of our deal: he comes to social events with me and I go to Classics stuff with him. We’re stretching our boundaries, empathizing with others…. But in the meantime a man so ancient he could be Homer’s contemporary is talking about an “oral tradition” and all I can think about is sex. I cover a giggle with my hand and Noah turns to look at me. We’re sitting close together because that’s how I like it and his eyes are too near, too warm. Crap, can he tell what I’m thinking about? I shift restlessly.
“Are you bored?” he whispers, leaning into me. His arm presses against my shoulder. I shake my head vigorously. I wouldn’t admit it even if it meant I had to spend ten damned years finding my way home. I can do
this for Noah, though I’m trying to think up something equally unbearable to subject him to in my field. Just for the sake of balance. But everything in my field at least moves with the speed of light, unlike in his….
Noah’s mouth quirks at the corner, like he can tell I’m lying. “Ten more minutes,” he says softly, like he can read my mind. And I really hope he can’t because of the salacious things in there. Ever since I started talking to Noah about sex it’s like the floodgates opened and I see, hear, think sex all the time now. Two weeks ago I wondered what was wrong with me for not being interested in sex. Now I wonder what’s wrong with me that I am. Go figure.
And the worst of it is Noah’s role in all this. I should never never have blurted out my first reaction to finding out he’s a virgin. It’s led to all sorts of pervy ideas that make me uncomfortable—like teaching him stuff (yeah right, Holly, like you know what you’re doing!) or offering to let him “practice” on me…. Ridiculous, inappropriate ideas. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut and my brain off? And my body under control, I add quietly.
I shoot a surreptitious glance at him now that his attention is back on the speaker. His hair is getting a little long, curling at his collar, but I hope he doesn’t cut it. He’s wearing that look of intent focus I admire so much. I shift again, and again Noah looks down at me, frowning now.
“Sorry!” I mouth at him. Okay, I’m fidgety! He reaches over and takes my hand, holding it between his two larger ones. His hands are warm and I settle a little.
And that’s the other thing. I’ve got this new need for physical contact with him. Ever since we got back from break I find myself leaning against him, scooting closer, reaching out to adjust a scarf, smooth a wrinkle in his always wrinkled shirt…. If he notices he doesn’t let on, but I notice and it freaks me out. Because touching felt normal before, when we were just regular friends, but now I’m worried it’s inappropriate. Not that we aren’t still friends! I mean of course we are—it’s just…. Gah! And whatever it is, I can’t seem to stop.
The Lesson Plan (Extra Credit #3) Page 4