Bryan: It was! If u r going to give a foot job, make sure ur feet are nice, groomed, and don’t stink.
Promise me you’ll groom ur feet.
Me: Got it. I solemnly swear…LOL.
Bryan: R u mocking me?
Me: Nope. Not at all. Maybe a little.
Yes. Yes, I am.
Bryan: I thought so. And here I thought you were my friend.
Me: I am, but that shit is funny.
Bryan: U wouldn’t think so if u had smelled them. Worse than the city dump.
Me: EWWW!
Bryan: Now you get me.
Me: Go to bed.
Bryan: I guess I do have duty tomorrow at 6am. Will you sing me a lullaby?
Me: lalalala. There. Now goodnight.
Bryan: Wait.
Me: What?
Bryan: So have u had sex? U hardly dated. Did u ever have sex?
Me: Goodnight.
Bryan: Night.
Something told me he would probably bring that question up again. Had I? Yes. Good sex? Never. Of the two guys I had slept with, one I didn’t want to think about because it was a painful memory; and the other, I felt nothing going in. Maybe he used a toothpick?
My first experience had not been like people wrote about in books. It hurt emotionally and physically. If possible, I never wanted to think about it again. My second experience had been a little different. He took steroids and acted proud of the fact he juiced, but his dick had shrunk smaller than my hand. Or maybe it had never been that big to begin with. Either way, while my virginity had been taken, my experience in the sex department was lacking.
Chapter 11
Bryan
Lying in my bed, I stared blankly up at the ceiling. A plain white ceiling with an almost smooth surface and nothing interesting on it or about it. My head still spun from the alcohol I guzzled when I got home and the cold medicine I swallowed before I left for my disaster of a date. Thinking about the foot job and the smell made me cringe and gag.
Each toe had chipped nail polish and at least three had jagged edges. But all of that did not compare to the smell. I wasn’t lying to Emma when I said it smelled worse than the city dump. Patrons from the furthest corners of the restaurant started to frown as they sniffed the air trying to figure out where the putrid smell originated from.
Damn, I fucked up. This date was a contender for Top 10 worst dates of my life, and currently battled for the number two spot. Why not first? The first belonged to a woman and her daughter. One night, I found myself at a bar, drank a little too much, and decided to hit on an older woman. When she invited me back to her place, I quickly agreed, needing to use something other than my hand to engulf my dick.
We got to her place and another woman stood in the doorway waiting for us. Without me knowing, the woman had invited her daughter to join us. It happened to be the daughter’s 18th birthday, and I was dear old mom’s birthday present to the younger woman. As if that did not take the cake for awkwardness, the woman’s daughter kept calling me daddy and begging “daddy” to take her cherry. I got out of there as quickly as possible, but not before I stepped on a roller–skate, sailed two feet forward, and crashed into a wall, which woke up the baby. I didn’t even know there had been a baby in the fucking house.
My date tonight battled for number two because I couldn’t decide which one was worse: a foot job with stinky ass feet, or dumpster diving to get my keys. I’ve had some bad dates. How did I keep getting into these messes? Did I attract the crazies?
I groaned remembering my dumpster diving escapade. My date that night drank too much at dinner and thought it would be funny to steal my keys and throw them into the huge dumpster behind the restaurant. Fuck me! It took me days to get rid of the smell. I thought because I was a newly named ace fighter pilot hotshot, I needed to celebrate and show off. My date probably had a bottle and a half of wine all on her own, and I only had a glass or two.
I was starting to lean toward stinky feet winning number two. Some women were fucking weird.
I breathed a sigh of relief that I forced Emma to promise me she would not become one of the crazies. I wasn’t sure why I had done that, but I didn’t want to see her go down the road toward Crazy Town. She was better than that, and too nice of a person to become that type of woman. If I needed to tie her up and lock her in the basement to prevent her from going psycho, then I would. Mel too. Although, it might already be too late for Mel. By the time I met her, she was already well on her way. Thankfully, Emma promised.
Even before I got home tonight, my thoughts drifted to Emma. I wanted her to be the first person I told about my date. I wanted her to be the person I laughed, or cried, with. I didn’t want to think about the whys of it, but something about her had me confiding in her. Maybe that sounded odd, and it was for me, because I had never been inclined to talk to anyone about my dates or my life before. Mel knew, but I had known her since high school and our families were friends. Emma was different. Normally outside the select two or three, I kept most things to myself, and this one little slip of a girl made me want to reach out to her.
What happened to her? Would she even tell me the whole story when she finally decided to confide in me? I somehow doubted it, and that bothered me. I wanted her to trust me enough to tell me anything. Not only due to her relationship with Mel, but because I genuinely liked her and wanted her to find her happiness. Before any of that could happen though, we had to get down to the heart of the matter.
My mind wandered and conjured various reasons for her self-esteem and trust issues. Each and every fictional reason I imagined, had my anger increasing. My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I lifted them right before I brought them down hard on either side of my body, hitting my bed. She deserved better. I didn’t know what happened, and yet, I instinctively wanted her to have better.
Turning over, I peered out of the window of my bedroom. I lived near the beach, and if I opened my window I would be able to hear the crashing waves over the sounds of traffic. But looking out the window, inky blackness greeted me, matching my mood perfectly.
I heard my roommate getting in from his own date, and sighed. Maybe I was the one that should to get laid instead of Emma. I hadn’t had sex since we pulled into port in South America a couple months ago. Fuck, I needed something. Too bad I didn’t know what I needed, and yet, I had this niggling feeling in the back of my mind that I should know.
Tonight had sent me over the edge and made me forget why I should not mix cold medicine and alcohol. As I left earlier tonight, I felt almost guilty for going out on a date. Why? I wasn’t in a committed relationship and was single and carefree. But the feelings of guilt would not leave, then the date turned sour, and when I got home I grabbed the new bottle of whisky, put it to my lips and guzzled a quarter of it before I set it down on the counter. I had convinced myself talking to Emma would be unnecessary and wrong. And yet, after drinking a few more gulps, I drunk chatted her.
Why the hell had I done that? Maybe talking to her lately made me feel closer to her than almost anyone else. Maybe it was the promise to share with her if she shared with me. Maybe I wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know me, who wouldn’t push me too much. Emma would understand that.
My life was beginning to spiral, but for some reason thinking of Emma allowed me to believe I had an anchor somewhere in the world. Because finding out from your little sister that your parents had made the decision to get a divorce, on top of funky feet, equaled one hell of a night.
Chapter 12
Emma
I didn’t know how much Bryan drank the night before, or how early he had to get up in the morning in order to make it to his duty station on time, however, I did know when he finally managed to get online later in the day, the first thing he typed had me guffawing and wiping tears away. I had a hard time trying to tamp down my laughter in order to answer him.
Bryan: I’m giving up alcohol for Lent.
Re–reading that one sentence s
till threw me into a fit of giggles.
Me: Lent is done. Easter was two months ago.
Bryan: I don’t care.
Me: Are you even Catholic?
Because isn’t it only the Catholic religion that practices Lent?
Bryan: No, they aren’t, and no I’m not. I’m Baptist. Don’t care though.
Me: Riiiiight.
Bryan: What’s that supposed to mean?
Me: Nothing. LOL.
My chuckles filled the air, echoing throughout the room, which in turn startled my dog, who immediately ran out of my bedroom and down the hall. I could hear his little feet pounding on the hardwood floor in the hall. Between the two incidences, I laughed some more. Tears spilled down my face; I couldn’t stop. My sides began to hurt and I could hear the dings of his response, but I still did not stop laughing.
Several minutes later, breathing heavily, I wiped my tears again and blew my nose. Sniffling, I giggled a little more and grabbed my computer. His irritation oozed from the computer.
Bryan: Are you laughing at me?
What the fuck are you doing over there?
Whatever. I don’t need to deal with you right now.
I’m logging off.
The little green circle next to his name had disappeared, which meant he really had logged off, and for whatever reason, I found that hilarious as well. His alcohol consumption must have been a lot if he was saying stuff like he was giving up alcohol for Lent. Why did that even pop into his head?
After my bad manners, I FaceSpace stalked him, waiting for the moment the green circle appeared again, and when I saw the green light, I jumped on him like a ninja snatching up her prey. Okay, not literally since we were in two different states, but I clicked on his name faster than I’ve ever clicked before.
Me: SORRY!
FaceSpace always told me when someone looked at my messages because it changed from a clear circle next to the name to a grey circle with a time stamp. He either had not seen my message, or he ignored it. Well, he was about to learn that I knew how to play the message bombing game just as well as he did.
Me: Don’t be a big baby.
SORRY again.
Hello.
I’m not stopping until u talk to me.
How much did u have to drink last night?
Lent is a year away. If u give it up now, ur ahead of the game. LOL.
I really am sorry.
Please?
I couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t you though.
It’s not you, it’s me. :P LOL
It was something else that happened at the exact same time.
I swear!
He still ignored me, and I made the same threat he used on me multiple times.
Me: Don’t make me call Mel.
Bryan: U wouldn’t because u don’t want her to know we’re talking.
I’m what’s hiding in ur precious closet ready to spring free.
Me: I would.
Bryan: Nope. U r too chicken shit to call her.
Me: Pulling her up on my phone right now.
Actually, no I wasn’t and I wouldn’t. He called it accurately, but he didn’t have to know that.
Bryan: Ha! U wouldn’t dare.
Well shit! Now it had turned into a dare of sorts. That changed things completely. Something about him made me want to rise to the challenge and prove him wrong. Plus it was fun. Now I had to call my friend. Unlocking my phone, I found her number and hit TALK.
Me: It’s ringing.
Two rings and then it sent me to voicemail. Damn. My eyes glanced at the clock briefly and it knew it was early. Only 8:16 P.M. She was off work, however, no answer usually meant Luke had her otherwise occupied doing something.
Me: You’re in luck my friend. Voicemail.
Bryan: I can’t believe you called her. Please tell me you didn’t really go through with it.
Me: I did. Why?
Bryan: It’s Luke and Mel’s anniversary.
Me: Oh shit.
Bryan: Yep.
Me: Fuck. I might be in trouble when she sees I called.
Mel could be funny about certain things, and big events or special dates fell into those unique categories. And since I knew what those dates were, then heads could potentially roll the next day. Sometimes she was gracious, but not always. Their anniversary was at the top of the “do not disturb unless someone dying” list, and Mel was scary.
Bryan: Pretty much.
Me: Asshole.
Bryan: LOL. Excuse me?
Me: Haha. You read that right. This is all your fault.
Bryan: How is this my fault?
It sounded as if he started to loosen up and that made me feel more comfortable and less anxious. I didn’t want him to be mad at me.
Me: You practically dared me to call her.
Bryan: I don’t remember daring u to do anything.
And I don’t remember forcing the phone into ur hand.
Nor do I remember putting a gun to ur head or making u call her.
Did I? Hell, maybe I have a clone somewhere running amuck doing shit like that.
ROFLMAO.
Me: No, but you still dared me.
Bryan: Not really, but using ur backwards logic, if I dared u to jump off a cliff, would u?
He had me there, and the butthead knew it. Trapped in a trap of my own making.
Me: No, but still.
Bryan: Ha. U r so busted. LMAO.
Me: Ok, ok. I concede. My hands are up in surrender. Haha.
I found myself snickering.
Bryan: I’ll see what I can do to head Mel off at the pass and give u time to gird ur loins.
Me: Gird my loins???
Bryan: Isn’t that what they say in books and shit?
Me: LMAO. Maybe. Just funny to see that from you.
Bryan: I’m a man of many talents and surprises, baby.
My stomach flipped and my inner muscles clenched deep inside me. Swallowing hard, I cleared my throat before I typed. I prayed he couldn’t see how much I desired and wanted him with just one word: baby.
Me: I’ll take your word for it.
Bryan: ;)
Before I attempted to crawl through the computer so I could jump his bones, I changed the subject.
Me: How much did you have to drink last night?
Bryan: Enough.
Me: How much?
Bryan: Enough that I won’t be drinking for a while and may actually be giving it up for Lent next year starting today.
Me: Ouch.
Bryan: I got to work and almost threw up. After some aspirin and dry toast, I felt a little better, but I really don’t remember the last time I ever felt this bad after drinking.
Me: Sounds loverly.
Bryan: Want to answer my question?
Me: Question? I don’t remember you asking anything.
I had an inkling that he meant our prior conversation from the night before, but that did not stop me from praying he had forgotten all about it in his drunken haze.
Bryan: Sex. Have you ever had sex?
Damn! He came back around to the exact subject I wanted to avoid like the plague. Like with most things in my life, admitting my lack of conquests to this man embarrassed me. Item whatever on a list of about 500 items long. I may have opened up about some of my insecurities, but that did not mean I was ready, or willing, to become completely open book. However, somewhere deep inside, I knew it would only be a matter of time before he pried all of my secrets from me.
Me: How long did your longest relationship last?
Bryan: Turning it back on me?
I was stalling. He knew it. I knew it. But that did not stop me as I attempted to misdirect him from his interrogation.
Me: Why not? You said an answer for an answer.
Bryan: Fine. 2 years.
Me: Wow. Really?
Bryan: Yes, really.
Senior year in high school to first year in college.
I found out she was cheating a
nd we broke up. Now u.
Me: I have.
He must have been waiting on me to continue, because when I did not expand on my answer, he got demanding.
Bryan: That’s all I get? U should at least give me a little more. I’m a sick man.
Me: You are sick, but too bad it is all in your head. LOL.
Bryan: Tell me.
Me: Two different guys and neither were any good.
I mean I read all these romance novels and I’m starting to think everything is exaggerated.
I’m told sex can be good, and Mel thinks it’s explosively amazing, but I don’t get it. I’ve never experienced that.
I could already imagine his laughter, and felt my anxiety and fear start to rise, causing bile to burn the back of my throat. Before I got sick, men called me an oddball because I didn’t jump into bed with as many guys as possible. They were put out by the fact I made them wait instead of having sex on our first date. Typically, they started out nice enough, but soon their personalities changed and they tried to either pressure me or make some excuse as to why they fucked someone else. I wanted more than just a physical relationship.
After we mended fences, Ellie told me one time about six months before I got sick that I wanted it all. Maybe I did. I wanted a mental and physical relationship. The man of my dreams would talk to me as an equal, make me laugh, and think me beautiful. He would want me for my mind and body. Where were those guys?
Bryan Sampson’s image appeared in my mind and I couldn’t shake it out. Sure over FaceSpace he would talk to me and we could joke, but in person, I would be no more than a friend or less. I’m not saying he would ignore me in front of others, but I was definitely not his type.
Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series Page 8