Anatomy of a Boyfriend (13 page)

He grins. ―It‘s okay. I‘ve heard people fart before. The trackies have farting contests in the locker room all the time.‖

―Wes!‖ I sit up and look straight at him. ―That wasn‘t me!‖

―Well, it wasn‘t me.‖

―Um…could it have been Jessica?‖ I look over at her.

―It sounded like it came from us.‖

Then it hits me. ―Wait, let me try an experiment.‖

I pull him down against my body and slide a few inches to the right. More flatulence noises!

Since the AC is out and we‘re both dripping with perspiration, it seems that when Wes‘s chest drags over mine, our sweaty, sticky skin creates these momentary air pockets, which are making those awful sound effects.

―Wow,‖ he says, shaking his head. ―That‘s some kind of cruel physics at work. Do you want to stop?‖

Stop? On our last night?

I answer by practically pouncing on him. Soon Wes lightly caresses the sides of my torso, which makes me writhe and arch my back it feels so good. The faux farting continues, but I pretend not to hear, even though it‘s seriously endangering the ambiance.

A few minutes later I‘m the wettest I‘ve ever been, and all I want is for Wes to touch me. I grab both Wes‘s hands and lead them to my undies. He peels them down slowly, and then reaches between my legs with his right hand. For a few seconds he runs his fingers over my pubic hair, but then without warning he shoves his second finger up my vagina. Or at least he tries to—I don‘t think he gets farther than a couple inches before I scream out like I‘ve been stabbed.

Jessica leaps up on all fours and starts barking.

Wes jerks his hand away. ―Oh, Jesus, Dom, I‘m sorry.‖

I‘m silent for a few seconds, trying to dispatch the pain with a few short breaths.

―No, um, don‘t be sorry,‖ I mumble. ―I just wasn‘t expecting it.‖ I sit up and clutch my stomach.

I hope I don‘t look as annoyed as I am, but that was not fun. I wish he had been gentler.

―I must have gone in at the wrong angle.‖

―Yeah. Well, no, maybe I‘m also just a little tight.‖

Wes sits at the foot of the bed and holds his head in his hands. ―I didn‘t mean to hurt you. I‘m awful.‖

I have the urge to tell him he‘s right, but I know that‘s not fair. I pull up my underwear and say,

―Of course I know you didn‘t mean it.‖ He doesn‘t move, so after an awkward minute I sit up on my knees and hug him from behind. ―Hey, let‘s take a break from me for a few minutes. Now I just want you to relax.‖

I push him down on the bed and pull off his boxers. He‘s completely soft now. Before I have a chance to touch him he pushes my hands away. ―Dom, don‘t worry about it.‖

I don‘t get it. Wes let me give him hand jobs both nights last weekend. I think I was actually getting pretty good at it.

―But, Wes, I want to.‖

―I‘m not in the mood,‖ he says like a despondent little boy.

I probably freaked him out when I screamed before. It was so dramatic. I don‘t know how I could be so stupid.

Then out of nowhere, my stomach starts growling. It sounds like a kitten in the throes of death.

How many more terrible noises are we going to have to endure tonight?

―Damn, Dom, is that you?‖ he asks, lifting his head and smiling incredulously.

―Yeah, I guess I should have eaten something before.‖

―I‘m getting hungry myself. Let‘s go downstairs. It‘s cooler there, anyway.‖

After dressing we head for the kitchen. I‘m too shaken up to eat, so I barely get down a slice of toast. Meanwhile, Wes inhales two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a whole bag of veggie chips. I don‘t know how he can have an appetite considering an ocean will be between us this time tomorrow. We‘re also not speaking; it‘s as if we‘ve regressed six weeks. My eyes start to water as I imagine this is the beginning of the end. I picture him with Jessica again. Jess and Wes.

After we do the dishes and go back to his bedroom, I summon my sexiest voice and suggest we have another go at it.

―The thing is, Dom, Mom will kill me if I‘m not packed by the time they come back. And I still need to walk Jessica.‖

I‘m about to offer to help pack, but rage starts flooding my brain. I don‘t care if Wes‘s Paris trip was planned before he met me. If I were him, I would have chosen to stay home and spend my last high school spring break with my girlfriend rather than the old girl next door. It‘s not like Paris is going anywhere. Wes doesn‘t even take French!

―Um…couldn‘t you have packed and walked your dog before I came over? You didn‘t even have practice today. I mean, Wes, this is our last night together for a while.‖

―I know.‖ He looks down uncomfortably. ―But I was reading
Slaughterhouse-Five.
‖ He points to the book on his desk. ―I couldn‘t put it down.‖

―Oh. In that case…‖ I put my watch and mood ring back on.

―In what case?‖

I pull my hair back into a ponytail. ―I guess I may as well go now if we‘re not going to be spending any more quality time together tonight.‖ I get up and slip into my sandals.

―Dom, what are you doing?‖

―What does it look like I‘m doing?‖ I grab my purse and turn toward the door. I‘m not usually this bitchy, but my behavior feels beyond my control. It‘s like I can‘t help being cold to him.

―Dom, I don‘t get it. What‘s going on with you?‖ He follows me downstairs.

I make it as far as the front hallway before I turn around and race back to him. What
is
going on with me? I want to show him I‘m unhappy, but not at the expense of driving him away.

―I‘m sorry.‖ I stretch out my arms to hug him. ―I don‘t mean to be so awful. It‘s just that nothing is going the way I wanted tonight. Everything I‘m saying and doing is wrong…. I don‘t know, maybe it‘s just that I‘m freaking out about…how much I‘m going to miss you…. And I‘m so frickin‘ sweaty on top of everything.‖

―Yeah, me too,‖ he says, holding me tightly. ―Why don‘t we do this? Let‘s give Jessica a quick walk, I‘ll pack really fast, and then we‘ll do whatever comes to mind for the rest of the night. My dad has a fan in his den. I‘ll go get it and put it in my room, all right?‖

―Okay.‖ I sniffle. ―That sounds great. I‘m sorry, Wes.‖

After we finish with the dog and suitcase, Wes says he needs a few more minutes to straighten up his room. So I sit on the bed and watch him hang up clothes, arrange his books, sort through some papers, and send an e-mail to the EFM track Listserv. Even though I‘m waiting for him to turn his attention fully to me, it‘s almost fun just observing him going about these mundane tasks. It‘s like every little thing he does is ten times more meaningful than if some other guy were doing it.

When he closes his laptop, Wes spins around on his chair and jumps on top of me. We make out to the soft whirring of the fan for the next two hours. Although he doesn‘t touch me again down there, he lets me give him two hand jobs, which makes things feel normal again. Every relationship has moments of physical awkwardness, right?

At eleven Wes says his parents are due home at any minute, so we get dressed and walk out to my bike in the backyard.

―Dom, I‘m going to miss you a lot. I wish my cell would work in Europe.‖

―I just wish I wasn‘t so weird before. I‘m really sorry.‖

―Don‘t worry about it…. We‘re going to prom, right?‖

My eyes widen, surprised. Not exactly the ―I love you‖ I‘ve been waiting for, but almost as good. It certainly makes me feel a lot better about tonight. ―Oh, well, I‘d love to go, if you want to.‖

―I only want to if I‘m with you.‖

I smile. ―I guess we‘re going, then.‖ I throw my arms around him. ―Thanks so much for asking.

I‘ve always wanted to go to a prom.‖

―Doesn‘t Shorr have proms?‖

I shake my head. ―Just lame cotillions in the fall. So this is gonna be my first and only prom.‖

Before I mount my bike, Wes and I have our longest, sweetest kiss to date, and I‘m hoping the memory of it will be enough to get me through the next nine days of imagining Wes with Jessica in the City of Lights. And who knows? Maybe absence will make the heart grow fonder. Of course, if my heart grew any fonder, my chest cavity would combust.

20

T
he following evening the Braffs invite me over to dinner to celebrate Amy‘s latest triumph.

The Fort Myers Museum of Art just asked to display two of her abstract oils! I‘m thrilled because being exhibited was always her biggest dream, and until now the only place you could find her work was her house, my house, and EFM‘s lobby.

The day ends up being a milestone for me as well. It‘s the first time ever that Amy‘s stepbrother, Matt, who‘s home for spring break, says more than ―hey‖ to me. His girlfriend is sitting right next to him, but I swear he does a double take when I enter the dining room.

―Hey, Dom. You look great!‖

―Thanks, Matt,‖ I answer nonchalantly as I take my place next to Amy.

After we finish toasting Amy, Dr. Braff grins and says, ―Amy tells us you‘re going steady with Wesley Gershwin.‖

―Yeah, I guess.‖ I laugh at her dated language. ―I‘d have brought him but he left this morning for Paris.‖

―I remember him from Amy‘s meets,‖ Amy‘s stepdad says. ―Very fast. Good form.‖

―I didn‘t know you were dating someone,‖ Matt says quickly, sounding almost disappointed.

I just shrug my shoulders. Amy knowingly nudges me under the table. She has a theory that guys are a lot more attracted to girls with boyfriends than to single girls. I never really understood why, but I suppose it makes sense. Maybe now that I know Wes desires me, I radiate desirability. Come to think of it, I have been looking better these days. I can‘t remember the last time I was this trim and pimple-free before. My hair and nails seem stronger and shinier. Even Grandma hasn‘t had to remind me to stand up straight lately.

I still don‘t have much of an appetite since leaving Wes‘s yesterday, but Dr. Braff‘s not offended when I eat only a few forkfuls of the veggie lasagna she made just for me.

She says, ―I joke with my therapist friends that if we could bottle lovesickness, it would be the next diet craze.‖

After we all laugh, Matt says seriously, ―You certainly don‘t need to go on a diet, Dom.‖

Amy nudges me again, and awkward silence ensues as Matt‘s girlfriend, who‘s always been on the chubby side, looks at him disgustedly. I can sense Matt‘s eyes on me during the rest of the meal, which makes me feel fantastic. Not because I still care for him, but because I couldn‘t care less.

After dinner Amy and I take a walk on the beach, but we don‘t get very far before falling down in the sand in paroxysms of shrieks and giggles as I tell her about last night.

―Dom, oh my God!‖ Amy laughs. ―You‘ve been fingered! My innocent little Dom has been fingered!‖

―Well, for only, like, two seconds.‖

―Still. You‘ve been digitally deflowered. A little hokey-
pokey
on the Marvin the Martians!‖

―Thanks. Now I‘m never gonna think of Looney Tunes the same way again.‖

―When are you going to go down on him?‖

―I don‘t even know if I could. He‘s so big.‖

―Nah. To use medical terminology, just ‗say aaaaah.‘‖

―Amy! It‘s a penis, not a tongue depressor.‖

―Good thing you‘re not vegan or else you wouldn‘t be allowed to swallow. Semen‘s an animal product, right?‖

―Okay,‖ I laugh, swatting her with my flip-flops. ―Now you‘ve gone too far.‖

We race to the pier, and I gaze up at the stars. It‘s amazing to think how many millions of people are looking at them right now. I wonder if Wes is. No, he‘s probably sleeping. Then I look down at the water, the charcoal gray ripples glittering with moonlight. The weather‘s perfect too, warm with just a slight breeze. If only Wes were here to enjoy this night with me, as well as every other night.

―Earth to Dom, Earth to Dom,‖ Amy teases as we walk back to the beach. ―Thinking about Gersh won‘t bring him home any sooner. And I‘ve been very good about not whining at how little I‘ve been seeing you.‖

―I‘m sorry about that, Ames. But between Wes and keeping up my grades—‖

―I know, it‘s okay. It‘s preparing me for next year.‖

I stop short and look back at the pier. ―Let‘s not talk about next year, Ames.‖

―That‘s all you would talk about a few months ago.‖

―Stuff has changed.‖ I etch a heart in the sand with my toes.

―Do you think you and Gersh are going all the way soon?‖

―I don‘t know. I mean, just his finger really hurt.‖

―It stops hurting. Soon it will feel amazing.‖

I look around to make sure no one‘s in earshot. ―Um…how amazing?‖

―My dear Dom.‖ Amy puts her hands on her hips and smiles. ―Are you asking me what an orgasm feels like?‖

―So what if I am? All I know from class is that it‘s a bunch of vaginal contractions and a discharge of neuromuscular tensions at the peak of sexual arousal—‖

―Only you, Dom, could make Big Os sound like a bad thing.‖

―And Wes said for guys it feels like Chernobyl.‖

She laughs. ―One of the counselors I hooked up with at camp last summer described it as an H-bomb.‖

―But what does it feel like for us?‖

―It feels…you know, wonderful. I‘m sorry, it‘s one of those things that‘s hard to break down into its components and describe systematically. It‘s like laughing in that way.‖

―Can‘t you try?‖

―Well, it depends on where you‘re being stimulated. Some Big Os are more intense than others, more long lasting than others. But it‘s like there‘s this little explosion down there, and it radiates through your entire body. More than anything, it‘s a massive release. And Dom…‖ Amy points to my hands. ―You don‘t need Gersh to get one.‖

―I guess…but I think it‘d be more special if I could share it with him.‖

21

S
pring break in the Baylor household is normally uneventful, marked just by a couple of extra visits to Grandma and a few fishing trips. This year my parents insist on occupying every hour of vacation by taking Amy and me out to restaurants, the mall, movies, a baseball game, and the Thomas A. Edison Museum. They don‘t say it, but I know they‘re just trying to keep me from sitting around the house freaking out about the approach of Monday, April first—the day most colleges post application status on the Web. Wes has been good about finding Internet cafés in Paris and sending me gushy e-mails. But even though it seems we‘ll survive spring break without dog-girl wrecking our relationship, what‘s going to happen come fall?