Anatomy of a Boyfriend (9 page)

Do you want to come over tomorrow (which is really later today)? You haven‘t been to my place yet, so I think it‘s about time I play host and you play guest. I just bought a vegetarian cookbook, and it has a yummy-looking strawberry brownie recipe maybe we could make together. It‘d certainly be a nice change from all those protein shakes and energy bars.

Your friend forever, Dominique

Subject: I don’t know either…

Date: Saturday, March 2nd 1:02 a.m.

Dom,

I can‘t find the right words. I‘m not sure exactly what I‘m feeling, but I know I‘ve never felt it before. I need to think about this a while longer before I can reply accurately and completely, but until then, just know I think about you a lot too. So if I look dazed when I come over tonight…8-

)—A grinning Wes

13

S
aturday night. Wes rings my doorbell at 5:17. Thirteen minutes early. I‘m wearing frayed cutoffs and my new see-through pink and green flower peasant blouse over a tank top. Wes looks adorable in khaki shorts and his EFM track and field T-shirt. My parents just left for the annual Fort Myers law enforcement banquet at the Sheraton and won‘t be back until after eleven.

I lead Wes to the kitchen and immediately put him to work on the brownies. I‘m anxious about what might happen between us, so I‘m glad we have an activity to ease us into the night and we‘re not forced to sit around and talk right away. While I measure out the ingredients, he mixes everything together in a big silver bowl. It‘s fun feeling this grown-up and domestic, almost as if we‘re some old married couple hanging out at home. I laugh when some flour gets on his face.

―You look like a coke addict with bad aim,‖ I giggle.

In retaliation he throws a fistful of baking powder at me. Mid-getaway I slide on some spilled water and collide with the refrigerator door. That really cracks Wes up, and I join in the laughing fit. We must be releasing nervous tension or something because we can‘t stop laughing for at least three minutes.

After we pop the brownies in the oven and clean up the kitchen, I give Wes my ―fifty-cent tour.‖

We‘re done in a fraction of the time it took Wes to show me his house because one, my apartment is smaller, and two, I‘m eager to get to my room. When we do, I already have a playlist of my favorite MP3s playing softly on my computer.

Wes stretches out on my carpet and says he‘s so glad this never-ending week is finally over.

―Amen,‖ I respond as I sit on the floor facing him, my back resting against the foot of my bed.

So the stage is set, but I‘m not sure what comes next. Neither of us has mentioned our latest round of e-mails, even though I know we‘re both thinking about them. I hate how it‘s so much easier to be open and straightforward to a computer screen than to an actual person.

Wes notices the poster hanging on the back of my door. ―Who‘s that dude?‖

―Oh. That‘s a portrait of Herophilus.‖

―Oh, him,‖ he says sarcastically.

I laugh. ―He was an anatomist back in 300 BC, but he was way ahead of his time. I wrote about him in my college essays on why I want to be a doctor.‖

Wes nods, but he looks sort of uncomfortable and is massaging his left shin. ―I could use a doctor. I overdid it yesterday at practice.‖

I take my copy of
Gray’s Anatomy
off the shelf. ―Want to see which of your muscles is sore?‖

―Yeah, sure.‖ Then he laughs. ―You read this stuff for fun, huh? I prefer Stephen King and Tom Wolfe.‖

―Yeah.‖ I sit down by his right side. ―I guess I never grew out of picture books.‖

I prop
Gray’s
on my lap and angle it toward Wes. ―This is a diagram of the leg, see?‖

―Wow. My, um, gas-troc-nemius must be what‘s hurting,‖ he says, pointing to the calf area.

―Cool. I didn‘t know we had a muscle actually called the Achilles tendon. I thought it was just a nickname, like
funny bone
.‖

I flip the page to a full-body view of the muscular system.

He flinches. ―I‘m glad we have skin to cover all of that.‖

―Is this grossing you out? Sometimes I forget some people don‘t have the stomach for this type of thing. Amy never did.‖

―No, it‘s okay. It‘s cool seeing what‘s underneath.‖

―Yeah,‖ I say, trying to catch his eye, ―it is.‖

Wes lies flat on his back again. After reshelving the book, I sit next to him so we‘re both facing the same way, except I‘m leaning back on my elbows—I know this position makes my 34Bs look bigger. I purposely didn‘t put my hair up in a ponytail tonight so it would spill all over my shoulders.

We remain silent as the sun continues to set. Amazingly, the mood‘s not that awkward tonight.

It‘s kind of nice we can space out together without it feeling boring. Gradually the room darkens to black, and the only light comes from my computer‘s ―starfield‖ screen saver. Soon the aroma of baking brownies envelops us, and the air-conditioning currents brush the ends of my hair lightly over his chin. Now Dave Matthews‘s ―Crash‖ comes on. My mouth is literally watering, Wes smells so good right now.

I can tell something‘s about to happen, the same way you just know someone is looking at you or that you‘re going to get an electric shock if you touch the doorknob.

He raises his right hand and reaches over my left shoulder, but then he puts it back down.

―I‘m sorry,‖ he says.

―Why? What is it?‖

―No, it‘s just—‖

―Just what?‖

―Just…your hair.‖

―My hair?‖ Is he annoyed by my hair touching his face?

―Yeah, I love the color. I can almost see it in the dark. I like it even better than Jessica‘s.‖

I‘m not sure whether he‘s referring to his dog or his childhood friend, but I don‘t ask for clarification.

He continues, ―Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you.‖

―Thanks, I inherited it from my mom,‖ I tell him. ―I like your hair too. It‘s so blond and sunny.‖

―Thanks…Dom?‖

―Yeah?‖

―I—Damn.‖ He sits up cross-legged and shakes his head.

―What‘s wrong?‖

Wes leaps to his feet and walks to my window. ―This is embarrassing.‖

―What is?‖ I smile, knowing we‘re getting somewhere.

―I want to do something. I‘ve been wanting to do something for a long time. It‘s just that…‖

I don‘t prod him. I just wait.

After a few seconds he continues, ―Dom, as you may have deduced, I‘ve never…gone out with anyone before.‖

―Really?‖ My heart jumps. ―No, I didn‘t deduce.‖

―Well, it‘s more than that. I‘ve never…done it, or done anything. Heh, maybe that‘s my Achilles heel,‖ Wes mutters, his voice drenched in vulnerability. Then he turns around and leans against my windowsill. ―And the fact I‘ve never done anything stops me from ever trying anything.‖

―Oh,‖ I say, genuinely surprised, and pleased. ―So, you‘ve never done, like,
anything
?‖

―I think you‘d be surprised at how little play we dudes get. We make up such bullshit,‖ he says defensively.

―Hey, I don‘t have much experience either,‖ I say as I stand up.

―Much?‖ Wes is still facing the window but looks at me over his shoulder. I can barely see him in the darkness. Only his blue eyes reflect the computer light. ―So, you‘ve…kissed before?‖

―Well, just a few superquick ones at camp and parties and stuff, but they don‘t really count since I didn‘t like the guys. Um, haven‘t there been any girls you wanted to kiss?‖

Wes turns back toward me but looks at the floor. ―Sure there were girls, but, I don‘t know, I was too chickenshit to try, or else they had boyfriends, or they were pretty but lacking any sort of personality, so I didn‘t think it was worth the effort…or we were friends and I was scared to screw that up.‖

―Yeah.‖ I nod. ―I understand.‖

―But, Dom…‖ He lifts his head and looks straight at me. ―There‘s never been a girl I wanted to kiss as much as I want to kiss you right now.‖

Happiness. Joy. Ecstasy. Elation. Heaven. Nirvana. Whatever you want to call it, this is it. The totally, completely, and absolutely sublime euphoria of reciprocation. I swear it feels like I‘m floating.

―Okay. Cool. I mean…‖ I force the words around my pounding heart. ―I would like that. I want that too.‖

Wes marches toward me, grabs my shoulders with both hands, and kisses me. It‘s dry, soft, and still, but powerful.

When he releases me a couple seconds later, a jubilant, conquering look washes across his eyes.

―Wow.‖ He smiles, his voice emboldened. ―Dom, I‘d like to do a lot more of that with you.

Would that be okay?‖

It takes all my self-control to stop myself from jumping up and down like a five-year-old. I can‘t believe the most perfect boy I‘ve ever met in my life is saying this to me.
To me!
―Yes,‖ I laugh,

―that‘d be okay.‖

―Dom?‖

―Yeah?‖ I tremble.

Please say that I’m beautiful, that you love me, that it was love at first sight!

―Um…I think I smell something burning.‖

14

“A
mes, you there?‖ I press my ear to the phone as I spin around in my swivel chair.

―Am I here? Am I here? I‘m having convulsions on the floor, but yeah, I‘m here. Oh, wow.‖ I hear Amy setting down her brush and ripping off her smock. ―Thank God, Dom. I was seriously starting to worry he was gay or asexual or something. Turns out he was just a rookie.‖

―I was worried he secretly liked that Jessica Sky girl…but he likes
me
!‖

―Hold on a minute. This all happened last night? You waited a whole frickin‘ day to tell me?‖

―I‘m really really sorry about that. This morning, I don‘t know, I was just processing everything.

Then I had to deal with going to Grandma‘s. My family doesn‘t even know yet.‖

―Okay, okay. So, the brownies are burning…‖

―Well, after that it was pure chaos for two minutes. Our smoke detector went off, so Wes raced to open the terrace door, and I threw open the kitchen windows and turned on the oven fan. The brownies were like charcoal, and it took an hour for the smoke to clear. I was scared the sprinklers would go off, but Wes said it would have to get a lot hotter for that to happen.‖

―Did things get ‗a lot hotter‘ between you two? A little
stove-top stuffing
in the kitchen?‖

―Yeah, right. For a while we were just sitting on the couch in the living room, and he tried to make me feel better by telling me how when his family lived in Charleston, his brother, Arthur, accidentally burned down their garage with a dropped cigarette. Eventually I calmed down, and then…we
made out
until eleven!‖

―Sweeeeet! How far did you get? Did he come in his pants?‖

―No!‖ I laugh at her relentless vulgarity. ―Nobody, you know, came. We did nothing below the neck.‖

―No Big O? Too bad.‖

―There was nothing ‗bad‘ about it. I had no idea making out was so fun.‖

―Isn‘t it, though? Aren‘t boys‘ tongues so warm and wet and spongy?‖

―Well, that sounds gross, but yeah, it was nice. I was surprised how…natural it felt, how easy it was to get into the rhythm of it. I mean, we were just kissing normally for a few minutes and the next thing I know I‘m pressing my tongue into his mouth.‖

―So Gersh is a good kisser?‖

―Totally! I mean, I think he is. The first few seconds were weird, I guess because it was so new, and our teeth kept knocking together. But soon we were sucking face just like they do in the movies.‖

―When are you going at it again?‖

―Well, he has track every day this week, so we can‘t see each other until Friday night, which sucks. But…he did send me a rather effusive e-mail today.‖

―Yeah? Let‘s hear it!‖

―Okay,‖ I chirp giddily as I punch it up on my computer. ―The subject line is ‗Hey, beautiful,‘

dated today, Sunday, March third. Um. ‗Dear Dom, I‘m sorry this will be short. E-mail is so empty, so sterile, so…well, it‘s nothing like the real thing, because there‘s nothing really there—

no smells, no tastes, nothing to feel or listen to. Just weightless characters on a faceless screen.‘‖

―Oh my God, Dominique, what a poet! No wonder he‘s gonna major in English.‖

―There‘s more, hold on. ‗I can‘t even count the number of times today I stopped in my tracks (pun intended) and shook my head, smiling as I replayed last night in my mind again and again.

Dom, you are all at once the subject, object, predicate, preposition, and period of my thoughts (can you tell I‘ve paid attention in grammar class?). Wes. P.S. My parents guessed about us. At breakfast this morning they said I looked so ―pale and wan‖ that a pretty Shorr girl had to be the culprit.‘ Then he put a smiley face.‖

―I‘m melting, I‘m melting,‖ Amy shrieks, mimicking the Wicked Witch of the West. ―I can already see the headline of the EFM
Examiner:
‗Strong and Silent Sprinter Swaps Spit with Shorr Science Quiz Savant.‘‖

―Ha ha.‖

An hour later, after Amy and I hang up, I reread Wes‘s e-mail a few more times and look at myself in my full-length mirror. One of the best parts of hooking up with Wes is my battle-scarred appearance afterward. My lips are swollen from kissing him so much. My cheeks and chin are red and raw from rubbing against his stubble. When he left last night, my hair looked like it had been through a blender from his running his fingers through it, and it took forever to brush out. But I love it all—I am Wes-ed, Wes-inated, Wes-erized. I know that sounds strange, but I mean it. Suddenly my body is good for something more than just carting me around—it means something to someone else. I have never felt this alive and healthy before, and despite what Amy says, I can‘t imagine feeling more orgasmic than I do right now.

15

T
he next morning I slink into the dining room to break the news to my parents. I‘m actually excited to hear their reaction because I know it‘s the last thing they expect. I take in a lungful of air and begin.

―Um, guys, I have to talk to you.‖

―Yes, sweetie?‖ Mom responds indifferently as she spreads cherry preserves over her toast. Dad doesn‘t seem to hear me at all as he skims the morning paper.