Chapter 4

My plan was, of course, to get put on the pill, so Uncle Bob wouldn’t have to wear a condom when we made love. Originally I intended to go out on half a dozen dates and then go to my mother to ask her to explain all the “feelings” I was having with the boys I was spending time with. As I already mentioned, the math meant my mother had fooled around when she was my age and her comments pretty well established that Jerry had been an accident who had changed both of their lives dramatically. I was pretty sure if I started talking to her about “feelings” I was having on dates, she would think in preventive terms. I hoped it would be her idea to put me on the pill, rather than me asking for that.

Tim and I went to see an action movie that was rated R for violence and nudity, but nobody carded us. We both had a good time and it was actually pretty comfortable. It was very different spending time with a boy outside of school, but it wasn’t weird or anything. We had popcorn and drank sodas and, afterwards, he took me home. He did not try to kiss me and, when he said, “This was fun. Do you think we could do it again?” I said, “Yes.”

So, when I went in the house after my first date, I already had a second one.

I lied and told my mother he kissed me, but that it wasn’t very exciting.

I do not understand why, but if you have been a wallflower in the high school dating scene, and then you tell your girlfriends you went on a date, it changes things. It didn’t matter that my date was with a very ordinary not-so-interesting boy. The word got around that I had gone on a date. And another guy asked me out.

I said I didn’t understand it, but Uncle Bob had a theory.

“It’s a little like seeing a pregnant woman walking down the street. The fact that she’s pregnant is a clear indicator that she’s had sex. So men automatically think of her as a girl who does that. And if you know a woman has sex, then, at least in a fantasy, she might have sex with you. So if you know a girl went out on a date, then you figure, why not take her out and see what she’ll do?”

“That’s awful!” I said. I happened to be flat on my back with my uncle’s condom-covered penis deep inside me while we had this conversation. It was a little ironic, in one sense. “I’d like to point out that I’m not pregnant and, as far as I know, I don’t have a reputation for fooling around on dates!”

“No, but guys, especially teenage boys, are forever hopeful. For them the sexual glass is always at least half full. They figure they have nothing to lose and maybe they’ll get lucky.”

“You’re very cynical,” I said.

“I got lucky,” he said, boring in deep and rubbing.

“Please stop talking while I have an orgasm,” I panted.

He kissed me, instead.

After I’d gone out with three different guys I hung around after supper one night to help her with the dishes again.

“I think I see what you were talking about,” I said, as an opening gambit.

“What do you mean, Dear?” she asked.

“When I’m out with guys I get these tingles right here,” (I touched my abdomen) “and a little lower than that,” I finished as I tried my best to blush.

“Of course you do,” she said. “That’s all very normal.”

“If I let them kiss me it gets worse,” I said. “How can I stop it?”

“You can’t,” she said. “It’s all part of that mating ritual I mentioned.”

“I don’t want to mate, Mom. I just want to have fun with a boy.”

“It’s when you have fun with a boy that the urge to mate strikes the hardest,” she said. I was a little amazed. She’d never been this frank before.

“So, what do I do? I don’t want to stop going on dates.”

“As I said before, you keep your legs closed.”

“Okay, that sounds fine, but what happens if I can’t?”

She turned to look at me.

“Is some boy trying to force you?” There was anger in her voice.

“No. Maybe I used the wrong word. I should have said what happens if I don’t.”

Her face relaxed a bit.

“These feelings are that strong?”

“Not yet, but they keep getting stronger.”

“Have you let one of them touch your breasts, yet?” she asked.

“Mom! No!” I swallowed. “I only thought about it. I mean Frank Gibson, the other night, tried to touch me and I made him stop. But I wondered what it would feel like. Does that make me a bad girl? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not. I remember what that felt like when I was your age. I just wasn’t able to talk to my mother like we’re talking now. That’s one reason I decided that I would talk to you if you wanted me to. I’m very happy you feel comfortable coming to me with things like this.”

“I’m glad, too,” I said. “It’s embarrassing, but I don’t feel so alone and helpless.”

“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here.”

“So, what should I do?”

She seemed to think for a few seconds and then her whole body seemed to stiffen up, like she was trying to stand taller or something.

“We’re going to do what I wish I had been able to do when I was your age. We’re going to get you a prescription for birth control pills.”

I tamped down the elation I felt. My plan had worked! But I had to make sure she didn’t change her mind.

“Mom! I’m not going to have sex with anybody!”

“That’s how you feel now, and I’m glad you do. But I know that can change, and it can change very rapidly if you meet a boy you really like and go out on lots of dates with him. That’s what happened with me and your father and I wasn’t prepared for it. We’re going to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you. I lost a lot of options when I got pregnant. We’re going to make sure you keep those options.”

I thought I was so clever. I had come up with a plan to manipulate my mother into deciding to put me on birth control pills, so I didn’t have to ask her to do it.

I would not find out for ten years that she had seen (and recognized) the changes in me, in my behavior, and my appearance. I would find out that she was a very naughty girl indeed when she was my age, and that she felt like she was just lucky that it was Daddy who got her pregnant, instead of one of the other half dozen boys she dated - and let have sex with her. I found this out one time, years later, when I kept pouring the wine I’d brought her as a gift when I came to Thanksgiving dinner and she got a little tipsy.

She used the word “flower” when I asked her what she meant when she’d seen changes in me. She said it was just obvious that I was happier and more optimistic, qualities often missing in a teenage girl.

“I was happy and optimistic,” I said.

“You had the look of a girl in love, and who knew she was loved in return,” slurred my mother. “Knew you needed to get on birth control.”

“That’s ancient history,” I laughed. “I’m glad you were there for me, though.”

We were sitting on the love seat in her sewing room, while the men hooted and hollered while watching football on the big screen TV in the living room. She leaned toward me and overbalanced, requiring that she put her hand down to keep herself from falling against me. She looked up at me.

“It was Bob, wasn’t it.” Her voice made it clear she wasn’t asking a question.

“I think you’ve have too much wine,” I said.

“It was, wasn’t it? It couldn’t have been anybody else. It happened before you started going out with all those boys. You went out with so many boys!”

What she was referring to was the fact that (what I thought was) an odd thing had happened. When I went out with a boy I tried to make sure we both had fun. I kissed a few of them, but hanky panky was off the table and I told them that on the first date. As a result (again, Uncle Bob’s theory) the tension that’s usually there, when a boy is trying to figure out how to get a girl in the mood, and when a girl is either fighting off her desires, or afraid of them, that tension wasn’t there and it was much more comfortable. I got asked out by a lot of boys, but it was all the guys who hadn’t gone on dates before, or were really shy or unpopular, or geeks. I got this reputation as a girl who would go out with almost anybody, and who you could have fun with, without all the subliminal or intentional games that went on during most dates.

I almost always had a good time on a date, no matter who it was with. My modus operandi was to ask lots of questions and get the guy to talk about himself, which guys seem to like to do. I learned a lot about things like Star Trek, and the big argument (I hadn’t even known was going on) between fans of DC and Marvel comics. I learned about astronomy, and a little bit about Dungeons and Dragons (which would take fifty dates to understand). I watched one guy play World of Warcraft and then got to establish my own avatar, which got killed within five minutes. None of it was serious and most of it was fun in one way or another. It made me more at ease when interacting with boys in general.

Ironically, my workouts with Uncle Bob dropped to twice a week. Part of that was because, in the past, I had worked out with him on Friday evenings. Now I was out on a date, instead. It was weird, in a way, because I chose to do that. I actually chose to go out with some boy I knew I probably wouldn’t even kiss, rather than spend time in bed with Uncle Bob, feeling luscious orgasms flow through my body. Part of that was “cover” but part of it was because it really was fun going out with all those guys.

There were compensations for the loss of a day (few hours) with my lover. When I dropped back from three to two times a week, I told my parents it was because I was so busy, and because I was going on so many dates. I also told them I was going to stay longer on the days I did go, to make up for the day I was dropping.

So, two days a week, I got to spend three or four hours with the man who took my virginity, and gave me the opportunity to learn how to be a fulfilled (and filled) happy woman in bed.

And I got to do it without those fucking condoms being involved. I got to feel every bump and ridge of his beautiful penis as they massaged the walls of my vagina. I got to feel the heat of his ejaculate as he made those pitiful, eager little grunts and almost cried while he shot off in me. I got to lie there, with our naked bodies pressed together, getting kiss after kiss after kiss.

I got to fall in love with a man, really fall in love - and not get my heart broken in the process, by the way. We both knew that there was no “future” for us, that this wasn’t a relationship that would become something the public would ever know about. I didn’t think much about that back then. I just reveled in the delicious feelings we shared. I suppose it was what some people feel when they’re having an affair, except we weren’t cheating on anybody. There was no guilt about violating some vow made during a wedding.

Granted, it was hard on me when I went to college. I missed the intimacy. I missed the man I loved. I even missed working out.

I used the gym on a regular basis at college. That started as a substitute for dating. Oddly, because I no longer needed to date as “cover” so my mother would think I was normal, I didn’t accept the offers I got from the very first day I was a college freshman. I still felt comfortable talking to “strangers” in the form of boys - now men - who were eager to get me alone, in private. I was friendly, without being flirtatious.

It was at the gym, in fact, where I met Martin. Martin was a Junior and “older” than the guys I had classes with. I sometimes wonder if his being “older” was attractive to me, seeing as how my love life prior to college was with an older man.

Initially, all we did was work out together. He was in ROTC and preparing to go off to officer’s candidate school when he graduated, and he said he wanted to be in peak condition so that basic training wouldn’t be a struggle, physically. He was buff and, I have to admit, a little gorgeous. And when two people work out together, there is a kind of intimacy that establishes itself. That’s been shown already in my relationship with Uncle Bob. You’re close together, physically, and touching each other, sometimes. You have discussions that are “meaningless” but which establish rapport and familiarity. You often wear less than you would in public, and what you wear can be provocative. Uncle Bob’s loose shorts are an example of that.

Not that Martin flashed his groin at me or anything, but his package still bulged. So did my breasts, which had grown a full cup size since I started my relationship with Uncle Bob. My mother says I’m just a late bloomer. I owned several spandex workout suits. Two of them were so slim between my legs as to be almost obscene, so I usually wore shorts over them, but Martin saw me in them sans the shorts on more than one occasion. My one piece swim suit was also a little racy and we swam together regularly.

I was used to guys putting a move on me, but Martin didn’t do that, not in the classical sense of things. I didn’t even think about that when he first offered to hold my feet while I did crunches. He always seemed to be there when I arrived to do my workout, and if he wasn’t, he showed up most days while I was using the various machines. They had lots more machines than Uncle Bob did, and it was more convenient to target individual muscle groups.

When I worked out on the parallel bars and pommel horse he watched me, expressing his amazement that I could balance so well, and I told him about working out with Uncle Bob. The gym had a balance beam, but I wasn’t as steady on that. I tried it just for fun, but I didn’t spend a lot of time on it.

It was inevitable that, after a workout one day, Martin casually said, “You want to get something to eat?”

“Let me shower and change,” I said. I didn’t think of this as a “date.”

“The Flying Pig?” he suggested. The Flying Pig was the local college café where almost everybody ate.

“Too crowded,” I said. “Takes too long to get your food. I have eight chapters of econ to wade through tonight.”

“How about Minnelli’s, downtown?” he asked. Minnelli’s was an Italian restaurant and far enough away from the campus that it was more of a “townie” place.

“That’s kind of fancy, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but we both need some carbs and they have the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

“Okay,” I said.

“It’s on me,” he replied.

And that’s the first time I thought of it as a date ... maybe.

I dressed normally. I didn’t get gussied up, and I didn’t apply any more makeup than some light pink lip gloss. He called me and said he was parked out front and when I went down he didn’t look dressed up, either.

There was a subtle difference in being together like this. It seemed more awkward, at first.

“Is this a date?” I asked, as he looked for a place to park.

“Date? I don’t know. Do you want it to be a date?”

“Actually, what I want is for us to feel normal,” I said. “It feels normal to work out with you. This feels a little less normal.”

“Then it’s just two workout partners loading up on carbs,” he said.

We already knew the things about each other that first-time daters often wade through. So we talked about current events and a little about politics. When our food arrived we ate in comfortable silence, for the most part. A mustached guy with a violin wandered by, selling roses for five bucks a pop.

“We’re not a couple,” said Martin. “We’re just struggling, poor college kids.”

The guy wandered on.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked. I knew he didn’t. It was one of the things that had been mentioned while we worked out. He also knew I didn’t have a boyfriend. But we’d never actually discussed our relationships, or rather lack of them.

“Too expensive,” he said. He blinked. “I don’t mean tonight. I don’t mind buying you dinner. I just can’t afford to do it on a regular basis. Besides, I’ll be joining the Army in a year and a half. Why get all doey-eyed over a woman and maybe even fall in love with her, when we’d be torn apart by my future career?”

“I get it,” I said.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Typically, men eventually want to do more than hold hands and engage in chaste kisses,” I said. “I’m not interested in a physical relationship right now.”

“So, you don’t like sex?”

“No, I like it fine. But it can get messy and complicated, and I have plenty on my plate anyway. This college stuff is harder than high school was.”

“Yeah. I forgot this is your first year,” he said. “If it’s any comfort, once you get used to it and establish good study habits, it gets easier.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I’m doing okay, but I used to get straight As and now I’m working hard to keep things in the B range.”

“Good study habits are the key,” he said. “A lot of kids goof off instead of studying. That’s what hurts them. If you study like you work out, you’ll be fine.”

I have no idea where it came from, but an idea wiggled its way into my brain.

“So you’re not looking for a committed relationship until you get situated in the military?” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m sure I’ll meet someone. There might even be women in my class at OCS. And everybody says women love a man in uniform.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” I probed.

“Sure,” he said.

“It’s really personal. You don’t have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Fire away,” he said.

“If you don’t have a girlfriend, what do you do for sex?”

He didn’t quite choke, but he swallowed rapidly and washed it down with a swig of his beer.

“You’re right. That really is personal,” he said.

“You don’t have to answer,” I said. I was afraid I’d pushed him away.

“I’ll answer it if you answer the same question,” he said.

I thought about that. I had wanted things to get more personal. This would probably do that.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll even go first. I have a vibrator and super-talented fingers.”

He blinked, and then looked at his plate, and then back up at my face.

“Me too,” he said. “Not the vibrator part, but that’s how I take care of my urges.”

“Who do you think about when you do it?” I asked. I also have no idea where that came from.

“You’re getting a little kinky,” he said. “I’m surprised.”

“I’m not kinky,” I said. “I’m just curious. I’ll reciprocate, but this time you have to go first.”

“Well ... There’s this girl I know. She’s got a boyfriend, but I think about her, sometimes. There are a couple of the cheerleaders who are pretty hot.” He looked away. I sensed he was thinking about someone he didn’t want to admit to.

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Exercising With Uncle Bob

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