By The Numbers Ch. 05

Sheila's exhibitionist nature sprung out as we drove back to my apartment from dinner. Though sated on filet mignon, she was obviously in the mood for more meat, judging by the way she slinked across the seat and began rubbing me through my jeans. The sun was descending, painting the world with twilight contrast, giving more than enough light for occupants of other cars to see what Sheila was doing.

"You know what I really like about you, Nate?" Sheila asked as she undid my jeans and tugged on my fly.

"What's that?" I asked, looking around with only slight nervousness as Sheila pulled out my cock and began stroking it. Her face hovered just about a foot above my crotch.

"I like that you let me do things like this," she said, then lowered her head and swiped her tongue around the head of my dick, while her hand pumped up and down.

I concentrated on the road, conscious of wondering eyes looking inside my car, watching Sheila's head floating over my lap and occasionally descending. "You really think I'd ask you to stop?"

She lifted up slightly, laughing softly, her breath warm and moist on my cock. "Some would," she said, then plunged down, slipping my dick all the way into her throat. I couldn't hold back a grunt of passion as Sheila deep-throated me, sucking arduously all along my shaft.

I got off the main avenue, looking for a secluded place. Just after six o'clock on a weekday, there was quite a bit of traffic. I wondered how many people would be going home to wives, husbands, friends and lovers with 'I saw a girl giving road head!' on their lips.

A large parking lot, mostly empty save for a few cars parked close to a brown-bricked building, called to me. I pulled in past the sign that advertised a private high school, found a spot beneath a broad elm with branches that showered the car in shadow.

I pulled Sheila's head from my lap, her mouth open and wet, dripping with spit and pre-cum, and pushed her back across the seat. She had already undone her jeans, and we both worked hurriedly to get them off. Within moments, the jeans were tossed on the dash, and her legs were splayed wide. I sunk inside her with a grateful moan, and Sheila curled her legs around my back.

"Oh, Nate," she deplored. "I love fucking you."

I smiled down upon her as I thrust in and out of her. "I love fucking you, too, Sheila. I want to make love to you every day for the rest of your life."

She smiled sweetly, lifting her hands to caress my face. "Tell me you love me," she said.

My heart soared. "I love you, Sheila," I said. "I always will."

She grinned, then closed her eyes, emitting small gasps with each deep plunge I made inside her body. At that moment, as we both climbed the precipice of bliss together, I felt that a pact had been sealed, an arrangement akin to a marriage formed. Sheila was mine, and I was hers. Our shared cries of ecstasy as we came at the same time only served to cement that feeling.

***

Sheila left me with a dreamy kiss that evening, after we had showered together. I watched her dress and apply her makeup as she sat on the edge of the bed, stood with her by the door for a parting kiss. As her lips left mine, Sheila backed out, smiling sweetly. She took my hands, pulling them with her.

"I wish I knew why I was so lucky, Nate," she said.

I smiled back. "I think I'm the lucky one," I said.

Sheila stared at me a moment, her smile frozen. Then she suddenly rushed me, hugging me close, squeezing me like a sumai wrestler. She didn't kiss me; she just hugged, with a sense of fierce, desperate longing. Then she stepped back, her eyes dripping the faintest trickles of tears down her cheeks.

"I love you," she whispered, then stepped away, walking briskly. I stepped out on the tiny landing of my front porch, watched Sheila break into a jog as she headed to her car.

The anxiety I had always felt before at such partings returned. My chest suddenly felt tight. Reluctantly, I slipped back through my door, and closed it.

***

Despite the emotion surrounding that departure, I headed into work the following afternoon walking on a cloud. I grinned at the hostesses as I stepped through the front door, and held my chin up as I made my way back to the kitchen. My life was perfect, as far as I was concerned; I was just a year and a half from graduation, and the most incredible, beautiful and sexual woman in the world was mine. I almost felt like shouting my joy to the world.

I did not notice the conspiratorial buzz amongst my fellow coworkers at first. I saw a few of them cluttered at the usual places – the end of the kitchen, out at the server islands – undoubtedly sharing the latest gossip. I went through my usual ritual; I always showed up early for my shift, so I could grab a soda and smoke a cigarette on the back dock before taking my first table.

Andi gave me a tentative 'hey, Nate' as I passed her; I grinned foolishly in return, riding my emotional high, and headed to the back with my glass of Dr. Pepper. Beneath the slowly-fading sun, I lit up and exhaled smoke.All is well in the world,I thought.

The door opened as Andi stepped out. Her face was solemn as she gazed upon me. "How you doing, Nate?" she asked.

I grinned. "Never better," I said, then frowned. "You okay? Something wrong?"

Andi regarded me a moment, her lips parting slowly. A heavy sigh left her lips as she shook her head ruefully. "That bitch," she muttered under her breath.

I looked at her curiously. "Bad day?" I asked.

She held out her hand. "Got a smoke?"

I dug out my pack, becoming more perturbed by the moment. "Hey, something wrong?" I asked. "You have a bitchy guest or something?"

Andi took a cigarette, leaned in as I lit it for her. "I had a two-top, earlier," she said. "Happy couple. Just got engaged.Hugefucking diamond on her finger."

I chuckled. "Kind'a makes me think about what—" I began, but Andi cut me off.

"Turns out, the guy's a lawyer," she said, giving me an intent look. "Just got offered some serious job with a law firm halfway across the country. They're leaving tomorrow."

I frowned again. "Um . . . cool," I said, not sure where Andi was going with her story.

She sighed loudly in exasperation. "Holy fuck, Nate!" she cried. "How stupid can you fucking be! It wasSheila! She's done! She's gone! She got up and told Juan that she quit! Right then and there! No two-weeks notice, nothing! She's gettingmarried, Nate!"

I stared at Andi, my hand shaking. The glass slipped and shattered on the ground, spraying shards and dark liquid across my shoes. I didn't really notice. "No," I said in denial. "No, that's not true." My heart was hammering with anxiety and fear. A sudden storm of emotion welled behind my eyes.

"Then call her," Andi said in a simple voice. She dug out her phone, and held it out for me.

For a long moment, an eternity wrapped within a second, I didn't move. Then, tentatively, I took Andi's cell. She had called up the number in her phone's memory. All I had to do was hit 'send.'

I listened to it ring on the other end. Once, then twice. Then came the mechanical voice: "We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected—"

I tired it again, even as I felt the film of tears begin to coat my eyes. "We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach—"

I slapped the phone closed, handed it back. I was suddenly having trouble breathing. The tears began dripping down my cheeks.

"Nate," came Andi's sisterly voice as I sagged to the ground. "Nate, come on. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe . . . ."

***

Juan, my manager, was a cool guy. He had been divorced twice, so I suppose he understood why I had suddenly become a vegetable. Andi's explanation – which, apparently, included a summarized version of mine and Sheila's relationship – seemed to persuade him, and he let me go home. I don't think I was ever as humiliated as I was that night, stomping through the kitchen with my face reddened and dripping with tears, the eyes of my friends and coworkers upon me.

I tried calling Sheila as soon as I got home, and got the same message that I had heard on Andi's cell. I called again and again throughout the night, to no avail, and thanks to the beer Andi bought for me, drank myself into oblivion.

She stayed with me for a while – Andi, that is – listening to my ranting, my venting. I told her everything, and she withstood the brunt of my emotional whirlwind like the white cliffs of Dover against a maelstrom.

"I love her," I lamented at one point. "How could she do this—"

"You love theideaof her," Andi interjected pointedly. Her eyes darkened. "Sheila doesn't love anyone."

I wept some more, guzzling beer after beer. Eventually, I passed out, and Andi tucked me into bed before leaving.

***

It took a few weeks before I was no longer a rude, morose asshole at work. The truth of mine and Sheila's relationship had become fairly widespread, and while I was praised by many of my male friends, offering comradely high-fives for having 'bagged' Sheila, I hated their words. And neither did I much appreciate the sympathetic musings of those who told me they 'felt' for me. Eventually, however, I began to accept what had happened.

Sheila had used me, for whatever reasons. I was the 'nice guy,' the 'quiet guy.' I was the sort of willing stool she could wrap around her finger, use for her own whims and pleasure, and still be assured that I would keep quiet. Because that was the kind of guy I was. The moment I understood and accepted that, I became a different man.

Sheila still had her friends amongst the employees at Jersey Jacks, and when the invitations for the wedding came out, they gleefully showed off theirs. But not to me, not directly. Apparently, thanks to Sheila's spinning of the facts, they had come to believe that I had made everything up. So they shunned me. Fine with me; I had no desire to humor the vapid supporters of Sheila's lies.

The wedding, I came to discover, was set surprisingly soon, in July. I had figured that a man like Mr. Lawyer, with his undoubtedly conservative family, would want a longer engagement. Guess I was wrong.

I had fallen into an equilibrium by that point, having focused much of my anger and disappointment into work and studying. Ironically enough, by the end of the spring semester, my grade point average had jumped a quarter of a point, and I was asked to become a trainer at Jersey Jack's. I suppose there is a lot to be said for sexual and emotional frustration.

Around the first week of July, I was working my usual station. Being a trainer meant that I got to pick my schedule, so I always worked the same shifts every week. On the day in question, I was closing the lunch shift, and looking forward to a day off. The afternoon had become pretty slow following the lunch rush, and I had only a single table that needed little attention. I was hanging out at the bar, bullshitting with Ace, when a customer came in. He looked past me, and his face blanched.

I turned slowly, and just . . . stared.

Sheila had cut her hair short, to just above her jaw line, where it flared out. She wore a yellow blouse and a tasteful skirt. The large diamond on her finger glittered obtrusively. Her wide, dark eyes found mine quickly as I pushed away from the bar and faced her.

"Hi."

I stared at her for a moment. It was hard to fight down the instinctual arousal I felt when in her presence. "Hi. Long time."

Her eyes darted away a moment, and she blushed. "Yeah."

I stepped closer, feeling a sudden desire to unleash all my anger, pain, and frustration upon her. But I held it back. "The date's getting closer, huh?"

She nodded, still not looking to me. "Just a week, now," she said.

I gritted my teeth a moment, then forced a smile. "Good for you."

She sighed deeply. "Look, Nate, I wanted to—"

I cut her off, taking one more step, which had me looming over her. I spoke in a low voice, so that only she would hear the words. "I honestly don't care what thefuckyou want," I said. "I loved you, I wanted you, I wanted to be the guy you would wake up with every morning. Andyoumade me think that would happen."

She huffed. "I never said—"

I leaned in. "No, you never did," I said. "Not with words." I stepped back. "Go away, Sheila. I don't want to play with you anymore."

I left the bar, giving Sheila one last look before I disappeared into the kitchen. She wore a stunned, incredulous look, as if she had expected absolution from me. My words, I later realized, had bit deeper than I had intended.

Epilogue

I hadn't been sent an invitation to Sheila's wedding, of course, and I doubt I would have gone even if I had. By all accounts, it was a beautiful, inspirational ceremony. Sheila looked beautiful in her long white gown and twenty-foot train, according to her friends who still worked at Jersey Jack's. I didn't want to look at the pictures, and no one offered them to me.

By the end of the summer, after turning twenty-one, I seemed to have assumed the throne of 'king shit of thunder mountain.' I had the respect of those I worked with, and garnered more from those whom I trained. I was enjoying my job, my position. Juan even mentioned to me that, once I got my degree the following summer, I could have a real future as a manager.

Just before classes started in the fall, I trained a cute, demure young woman named Jackie. She had the sweet features and natural blonde hair one might expect from a stereotypical small-town girl growing up in the Midwest. Having just moved to the south from Ohio, she was understandably reserved and shy, and kept her distance from all the lechers who deigned to prey upon her. More often than not, following her training, she would come to me with questions.

It was not long before I began to realize it was more than simple professional admiration which compelled Jackie to seek me out. Thanks to Andi and a few others, I learned that the innocent-eyed teenager (she had turned eighteen just a week before she came to work for us) had a crush on me. I found that arousing, and . . . intriguing.

One night, during the first week of September, I headed out to my car, lighting a cigarette. I heard the tortured spin of an engine that would not turn over, and looked to see cute, blonde Jackie behind the wheel of her car. It took but a moment for me to make a decision. I approached her car, stepping around to the driver's side, and rapped on the window.

"Hey."

She looked to me through the glass, her wide blue eyes almost fearful. But she smiled with relief upon seeing me, and rolled the window down. "Nate. Thank God. My car won't start," she said petulantly.

I smiled. "Come on, I'll give you a ride. And if you need a ride in the morning, I can pick you up."

Jackie's face glowed as she smiled. "Really?"

I chuckled and nodded. "Come on."

Jackie got out, and followed me silently to my car. She had eschewed her work shirt, and wore just a loose tank that covered full, bouncing, and obviously braless breasts. I opened the passenger door of my car for her, and she gave me an impressed look and smile.

"Where do you live?" I asked once I had gotten behind the wheel.

She paused for a long moment, making me look to her. I noticed her eyes darting away from my crotch. "Um . . . you're twenty-one, right?" she asked cagily.

I chuckled. "Yeah."

"Can we get some beer?" she asked, then quickly added: "I'll pay."

I chuckled, pulling out of the parking lot. "Tell you what," I said. "Let me get it, and we'll drink it together."

I glanced to her for a moment, saw her demure, but sexy, smile. "Sure," she said. Her hand tentatively reached across the divider between the seats and touched my thigh.

I breathed in. "Jackie."

"Yeah, Nate?"

"You ever hear of . . . doing it 'by the numbers?'"

Her eyes wandered a moment, and she shrugged. She was still smiling. "Um, no. What is it?"

I just grinned.

-finis-