Chapter 6

I went to NP school, because, just like last time, I eventually started to feel as if I had been nursing long enough, that I could phone it in and get away with it. Again, I interviewed at Enormous State University, again I got into the Nurse Practitioner program, again I studied, I worked my semester breaks and weekends, again I graduated with some modest student loan debt, and took and passed my boards on my first try.

This time, I did not have a wife to help me with insurance, and housework. I also did not have fatherly responsibilities. It kind of evened out, from a time management perspective, but it was kind of lonely.

Once I had started grad school, there were parties every couple of weekends or so. Serving as an opportunity to get acquainted, we would mingle, and exchange stories. I met all of my classmates, and learned that this one was married to a contractor, that one married to a physician, and this other one was married to another nurse.

One of the women was here from Montana, and had her boyfriend from undergrad waiting for her back home. She was cute, and sweet, smart, and pleasant. I fell in lust.

One weekend, I was sitting in the host’s kitchen, sipping on a beer. Amanda (my lust object’s name) wandered in, snatched a beer from the fridge, and sat down across from me. She opened her beer, took a sip, and opened the conversation. “So, Mark, what’s your deal?”

I sipped my own beer, and replied, “What do you mean, ‘what’s my deal’? What makes you think I have ‘a deal’?”

She crossed her arms, illuminating the fact that she had a firm, middle sized bust, and leaned on her elbows. “Bobby, over there, is married with several kids. He’s working his semester breaks, and his wife is working at Target to help with the bills while he’s in school. Marie, over there, commutes from her home in Oshtemo, and her husband works for the chemical company there. Jim, well, likely you already know he retired from the Navy, and wants to put his Marine medic experience to work, now that he’s out. So, what’s your deal?”

I turned it back on her. “Ya know, Amanda, I wonder what your deal is!”

She smiled, leaned back, and stretched. Her tee shirt stretched with her, tightly across her breasts, showing every seam of her brassiere. “My deal? I was gonna go to NP school, return home to Montana, and set up housekeeping with my boyfriend from undergrad. We would marry, raise several kids, as he worked for the state government in Helena, and we’d live happily ever after.”

She paused, and the smile left her face. “Remember after Thanksgiving break? When I came back here, and didn’t really do much of anything with the rest of you?”

I nodded. She had seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn, almost as if she was grieving. I soon learned why.

She continued. “So, I went home for Thanksgiving, and Jim (the boyfriend) was supposed to pick me up at the airport. He never showed, and I wound up renting a car, and going to my parents’ house. They were glad to see me, but there was something that they seemed to not want to tell me. I found out, when I saw Jim--MY boyfriend—out with some younger girl. When I asked my parents about it, they told me that he had been seen around with her since I left in August. That bastard had started dating almost as soon as I had landed here!”

I grimaced. “Gotta tell you, I am sorry to hear that! Simply from my acquaintance with you, you are smart, I can tell at a glance that you are cute, and from listening to you in class, I can tell you are focused and determined. It seems to me that you are a quality human being, and a woman to keep. You make it sound as if Jim—is that his name?--is an idiot, or so shallow that he wants a woman who will not challenge his probably overly high opinion of himself. That might be a good role for a younger, less mature woman to fill.”

Amanda paused, reflecting, for a moment. “I dunno. That sounds like it ought to fit. He did seem not all that enthusiastic when I applied for NP schools. He had mentioned, a couple of times, that he was happy with my remaining a staff nurse. I wonder if that was his deal?”

I shrugged. “Hard for me to be sure. I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, except, perhaps, if he looked stupid, and conniving, and not man enough to break up with you, in person, rather than cheat on you.”

She essayed a small grin. “Well, when we were dating, he did not seem retarded. Since he snuck around on me, behind my back, well, my perspective may have changed, just a bit!”

She paused again, and an impish light came across her eyes. “You may not think so, but I certainly did notice that you have not answered my question! What is your deal, anyhow?”

I attempted, again, to deflect her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you are older than most of the rest of us, you never talk about a wife or family, all we really know about you is that you are nice, and polite, never seem to hit on us, which we all appreciate, by the way!, and that’s about it. What’s the rest of your story?”

I smiled, and considered telling her of my Louisianan friend, and the magic that had given me a second chance. That would entail revealing my another-life wife and children, and considerable more explanation beyond that. Truth be told, I had trouble believing it, and I had lived it!

I settled for a benign almost truth. I shrugged. “I never met a woman I wanted to settle down with.”

She pressed. “Is it that you don’t consider women as domestic partners?”

I was startled. “Are you asking me if I am gay? Uh, no. I’ve dated plenty of women, even had a friends-with-benefits arrangement with a woman at my job-before-last, but she wasn’t gonna leave her family, friends, and roots she had spent a lifetime cultivating, and I was gonna leave the state for grad school. Otherwise, some women didn’t measure up to the criteria I was looking for, others, well, I did not measure up to theirs.”

Amanda smiled. “So, if the right woman came by, you’d consider the entire marriage-children-picket fence thing?”

I nodded. “Yep. I’m certainly open to that possibility. Not really looking right now, since I’m focused on school. I expect that, one day, I’ll meet the right woman, at the right time, in the right place, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Our host selected that moment to push his furniture to the margins of the living room, dim the lights, and turn on some music. Amanda reached over, took my hand, and directed me: “Let’s dance! I haven’t danced with an (saucy emphasis added) older man, recently! Let’s see if your age, gives you some moves that I have not seen!”

She led me out onto the floor, and started swaying to the beat. I endeavored to match her moves. I suppose that I sort of, maybe, kinda did not overly embarrass myself. Anyway, Amanda was grinning.

Fortunately for my aerobic (non) conditioning, the next song was slow. I was ready to sit down a spell, but Amanda slid closer, wrapped her arms around my waist, and began to sway again, considerably closer to me than previously. I draped my arms over her shoulders, and swayed along with her. She paused, grasped my hands, placing them on her hips. She wrapped me in her arms, and settled her head on my shoulder.

This was alright by me, except for the fact that Little Mark started to pay attention, and, wanting to know everything that was going on, began to, well, “stand up”. I was happy to feel Amanda’s breasts pressed against my chest, and her firm hips felt warm and alive beneath my hands (I might even have slipped my grasp just a little bit over her ass ... ok, maybe I eased my way into a handful of her ass-cheeks ... I guess... ). My problem, such as it was, was that our proximity led to Mr. Happy rubbing against her tummy, and I wasn’t certain that such a display of classic male appreciation for the womanly form would be appreciated by the object of this particular display.

She soon set those concerns to rest, as she wriggled against me, and, pulling back a bit, glanced down between us at the protuberance prominently disclosing my opinion of her closeness as well as my appraisal of her womanly attractiveness.

She looked in my eyes, a twinkle in her own, and effected a moue. “Is that for me? Did I do that?”

I smiled back at her. “Well, yes. You did inspire that reaction from me. Still, to be honest, it is kind of the reaction I have to all the pretty, smart, confident young women who rub themselves against me. You are simply the gold standard thereof.”

A sunshine smile beamed from her face. “Well, thank you, kind sir! As for me, I occasionally enjoy dancing closely to a grown up, intelligent, thoughtful man, who not only is kind of handsome, but appears to have a big dick, as well!”

She got me. I stuttered, I nearly stumbled, and nothing intelligible came from my mouth for a couple of seconds.

She, of course, laughed out loud. “Oh, you! You should see your face!” She leaned in a little closer, raised on tip toes, lips brushing my ear, and loudly whispered, “I thought you knew! Hasn’t anybody ever told you that you have a big dick?”

I blushed: I know I did, I could feel the heat radiating off my face, and suspected that everybody else could read a newspaper from the beaming light off my ears. I whisper-yelled back, “No, nobody has ever commented on the size of my krenk! Myself, I think I am average, but, you seem to have an opinion based on no hard data whatsoever!”

Again, she laughed out loud. Whispering back, she replied, “Hard data? Really? Just what do you have tickling my belly button? If it is not your enormous johnston, then you are an undeclared alien, and earthlings like me just may be in big, big trouble!” She paused a beat. “Get it? Big trouble? From your big tool?”

Two things occurred to me right about then. First, it was unlikely that I could extricate myself, conversationally, from this hole we were digging for me, together. Secondly, that this woman was fun, confident, and quick witted. So, I threw her a tangent.

“I really would hate for all the other men in class to feel inadequate, and the women to feel deprived. Could we please take conversation about my wedding tackle someplace else, just a little bit more private?”

Amanda took, well, pity of sorts, on me, and led me by the hand to our host, positioning herself so my erection was hidden behind the swell of her hip. We said our goodbyes, and Amanda piped up, “Mark here offered to drive me home, since I have had a couple too many beers. Will my car be OK here overnight?”

Reassured that it would be alright, we made our escape. She followed me to my truck. I assisted her inside, and walked around to the driver’s side. I settled into my seat, secured my seatbelt, and glanced over to my passenger. “Alright, sweetie: where to?”

She smiled, serenely. “I don’t suppose you have shown a woman your etchings, recently, have you?”

“Uh, no. To be honest, my “art work” runs more to the lines of over the top ‘Trump as Conan The Barbarian’, or ‘Trump as George Washington’ posters.”

She looked at me, as if seeing me in a new light. “Are you a Trump supporter?”

I looked in her eyes. “Yeah, sort of. Really, though, the posters appeal to my sense of parody. I mean, I know that Mr. Trump is not ‘The Father of The Country’, just as he is not a mythic Cimmerian warrior. Since his adversaries, at least some of them, react as if he was himself, The AntiChrist, well, parody portraying him as altogether different appeals to my sense of the absurd.”

Amanda smiled. “Perhaps I’d like to see these posters, myself, and form my own opinion regarding their parodic success, hmmm? What would you say to that?”

“I think I’d enjoy seeing your reaction. Ready?”

“Let’s get going, sir!”

I lived in a different complex than our host, but the apartment developers appeared to want to huddle together in one corner of the township. A short drive later, I was parked, and turned to my companion.

“Ready to enter my Trump Cathedral?”

She looked a bit unsure of this tour, presented in that manner. “umm...”

I laughed out loud. “C’mon, you will laugh!” I paused. “Well, I’ll laugh!”

Dubiously, “Uh, ok. Let’s see this chapel of yours.”

I essayed another teasing joke. “Would you mind waiting out here for a minute, while I light all the candles, and burn some incense?”

She recognized the tease. “Uh, no,” she smiled, “I’ll just follow you in.”

Shrugging, I unlocked the door, and stood aside. She entered, looking around, finally turning to me. “Where’s all the Trump paraphernalia? I thought you had a cathedral or something devoted to him?”

“OH, well, about that...” I temporized. “It certainly would not do, to have profane eyes sullying the magnificence of The Dear Leader, amirite? I have all my sacred artifacts carefully hidden away!”

I pawed through this drawer, then that, finally finding a Trump 2019 calendar, featuring tongue in cheek images of the now ex president in heroic poses, and handed it to her.

Amanda took it dubiously. “This all you got? Here you were talking this big deranged Trumpista game!” She flipped through some pages, finally pausing on one whose image was the famous “Washington Crossing The Delaware” painting, with Mr. Trump’s face replacing Washington’s. (Trump Crossing The Delaware https://joyinliberty.com/q/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2020/01/trump-crossing-delaware-meme-1024x654.jpg)

“I don’t think Mr. Trump, at seventy something years old, has the balance to pull this pose off!”

I agreed. “Probably not. In addition, the guys all look freezing ass cold, and I would be surprised if Trump’s Secret Service protection detail would let him within several meters of that frozen river, in the first place!”

She chuckled. “Yeah, any other decision would be protective detail malpractice!”

She turned a few more pages, pausing again at one picturing Mr. Trump’s face, superimposed on Schwarzenegger’s body as Conan The Barbarian. (Trump The Barbarian https://hugelolcdn.com/i/421873.jpg)

“I don’t think The Donald was that buff, even in his twenties! Certainly not as president!”, she observed.

I agreed. “Yep, the over-the-top nature of the image appeals to me. Good for a giggle or two.”

Folding the calendar, she turned to me. “So, now that I’ve seen your etchings, is this the part where you ply me with champagne, and have your wicked way with me?”

“Nope. I’ve got diet soda in the frig, and nice cold tap water, though. As regards ‘my wicked way’, and having same with you, well, should it be, say, ‘our wicked way’, with each other, well, you certainly would be an attractive candidate!”

She sashayed closer to me, wrapping her hands around my waist. “Just how far do you think flattery will get you?”

I touched my forehead to hers, wrapping my own hands around her waist, resting them upon the swell of her hips. “Oh, I suppose just as far as you want it to get me!”

She tilted her head back, reached up, and we smooched. She drew back, and asked, “And, no further than I wanted? Can I be sure of that?”

I smiled at her. “Yep. If we are gonna have happy fun times, everybody will be happy, having fun, and willing, if not eager, to play!”

She smooched me again, and asked again, “No pushing the envelope? No ‘Just a little more’?”

I smooched her, this time. “Nope! Hell, if this, right here, is where you draw your line, I’m good! I’m really enjoying having a pretty young woman, rubbing up against me, and kissing her. Should you want more, I’m in. If this is your first date limit, so to speak, I’m still good.”

She rubbed her belly against my throbber. “Won’t ‘Little Mark’ be disappointed?”

I shrugged. “Maybe ... hell, most likely, yes! Still, ‘he’ isn’t making the decisions here, you are, and, after that, I am. He’s third in the chain of command!”

Amanda grinned at me, and released my waist. “Let’s sit here, and talk for a while!”

I suppose these youngsters see things differently than us old guys do. I imagined that, with that prelude, we’d converse, tell tales of our past, share experiences and stuff like that. It appeared that ‘let’s talk’, in this younger set, meant something altogether different than what I had assumed.

I settled onto my sofa, and she settled into my lap, facing me, knees on either side of me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she shifted, reached one hand to place my hands on her butt, and leaned in for a kiss.