Missy Gets a Real Man

"The ride was no problem at all," he told her. "And everyone needs to rant sometimes. By the way, would you like my number? If something like this happens again, I'd like you to call me. I'll come get you."

"I don't think I'll be stranded again," she said, picking up her shoes, opening the car door and getting out. "I'm going to give up dating and get a cat."

She closed the door and walked gingerly up the sidewalk to her front door. She was grateful that he waited to leave until she got her door unlocked. She'd forgotten to leave the front porch light on and would have had difficulty seeing the keyhole if it weren't for the Porsche's headlights.

When she entered her house, the first thing she did was strip off her dress. It wasn't ruined but she'd never wear it again. She didn't want to be reminded of what a disaster tonight had turned out to be. She draped it over the back of her hideously ugly but gloriously comfortable brown and orange plaid couch. She'd take it to the goodwill tomorrow before she went to work. She stripped off her g-string panties and let them lie where they fell. She had had no need to wear a bra with her dress as it had one built in. For now, all she wanted was a long hot soak in her bathtub and then to sleep until she had to get up and dressed for work the next day.

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she remembered how she had blurted out her frustrations to Wayne. As she thought of him, she realized he was the last single man in the neighborhood she hadn't dated. After tonight, she wasn't sure he'd want to ask her out. Even if he did, she didn't know if it'd be such a good idea. Somehow he'd become a friend. She valued that, especially since she had no other friends. She was afraid that if he asked her out and she said no he wouldn't understand why, even if she tried to explain. If she said yes she was afraid that he'd expect what all the others did. Oh, she was sure she wouldn't be bored on a date with him. She just didn't want him to think her a slut. She'd never cared before what anyone thought of her but it was important now.

She worried over the what if's until her bath water became tepid. She put it out of her mind as she pulled the plug and stepped out of the tub. She got into the shower stall just long enough to wash her hair. All she thought about as she dried her body and hair was ordering a new uniform for work; one that wouldn't be so tight. There was no purpose in dressing so provocatively anymore. She'd go to the local animal shelter her next day off and adopt a pair of cats.

As she got into her bed, she couldn't help but think about how disastrously the night had gone. She'd never thought that the men would think her so easy she'd accept a few hours of sex in a crummy motel room. She'd never cared about her reputation till now. Now she wondered if she'd ever be wanted for more than just sex. From what he'd said about not being boring, she guessed that even Wayne, the only person she could even remotely consider a friend, wanted to fuck her. She tried to stop the tears of self pity but eventually just gave in, burying her face in a pillow and telling herself she'd just do this one time. Tomorrow she'd act like nothing had happened and when her new uniforms came in she'd change her personality. She'd be the crazy cat lady instead of the neighborhood slut.

The next day at work she acted like it was any other day, smiling and flirting with all the men. No one noticed that her eyes were still red and slightly puffy. No one noticed that her smile seemed forced and frozen in place.

She had to put her plans on hold for a while though. She didn't have enough left from her paycheck to be able to afford new uniforms. Her car needed to have the carburetor rebuilt, oil leaks fixed, and new tires. She really needed a new car but her Chevette needed so many repairs it was almost impossible to save money for a down payment. She almost made it home when it sputtered and died. She knew there was plenty of gas in the tank so it must be the fuel pump that had gone out. She managed to coast down the gentle slope of her street to park in front of her house. Tomorrow was payday so she'd go to a nearby salvage yard before work to pick up a working fuel pump.

She slammed the door and almost stomped up her front walk. She fumed as she fumbled with the keys. When a voice spoke from behind her, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Car trouble?" he asked.

"Oh my god, Wayne, you nearly scared me to death!" she almost yelled in a voice that had been startled into being squeaky. "Yes, it's car trouble. It's always car trouble. I thought I could get at least a few hundred more miles out of the fuel pump but no such luck. I try and try to save for a down payment on a more reliable car but I always have to buy parts for this one."

"I'm off tomorrow if you'd like me to fix it for you. Just to be neighborly."

"Thank you, but I can fix it myself. I'll just ride my bike to the salvage yard and work tomorrow and put on the fuel pump the day after. It'll be fine."

"You sure? I'm not doing anything else and replacing a fuel pump would take less than an hour."

"Don't worry about it. I've been patching this scrap heap for years. I can do all but the most physically demanding of fixing."

"Well ok then, if you're sure. I just wanted to offer to help. Good night."

"Good night."

The next day Missy left early on her bicycle. When she stopped at the salvage yard however, she was told that they didn't carry parts for her car. It was too old and the make was too unpopular. She called the auto parts store to see if they had the part she needed. They didn't have one in stock but could order it. It would take about a week to come in. She called another parts store where they informed her they had had one but had sold it just today. She resigned herself to a week of riding her bike to work and hoping it wouldn't rain.

When she got home that night she noticed a scrap of paper under the windshield wiper of the Chevette. Her curiosity piqued, she slid it out and realized it was a note.

Missy,

I went ahead and replaced the fuel pump. Just being neighborly.

Wayne

She didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful. She settled on grateful but made a mental note not to say anything if he didn't. She put her bike back into the garage, got the car keys, and moved the car out of the street back into the driveway. When she went back into the house and started fixing a light supper she thought: none of the other men in the neighborhood would have done that for me.

She turned on the TV to watch the Steven King movie The Green Mile, took a chicken leg quarter out of the fridge, butcher knife out of a drawer, and laid a cutting board on the countertop. She started to cut the leg and thigh portions of the leg quarter apart while watching the opening scenes of the movie. Unfortunately, she wasn't paying attention to where she put the knife's blade and cut the edge of her left forefinger. Startled, she jerked the knife away but, once again, wasn't paying close enough attention to where the blade was. The very end of the knife nicked the inner wrist of her left arm. It seemed to have cut one of the delicate veins near the surface of her skin. Blood started rushing out as if it were being pumped. She dropped the knife then. It fell, blade down, to bounce off the instep of her bare left foot, slicing that open too.

She could have taken care of her injuries herself if it'd just been one cut. But she didn't have two extra hands. She grabbed a hand towel from where it hung from a drawer pull to put on her wrist and got her phone out of her pocket. She dialed 911, explained what her injuries were and that they weren't immediately life threatening. The operator assured her that a paramedic team was on its way.

Missy hung up after giving the operator her address so she could keep pressure on her wrist as it was the cut that was bleeding the most profusely. Her finger stung and her wrist and foot throbbed. Her foot was bleeding enough to form a small puddle on the linoleum floor. Despite the amount of blood, it didn't feel very deep and she hoped she wouldn't have to have stitches. She couldn't afford a hospital bill.

She had to wait about five minutes. She managed to get upright without using her hands and awkwardly hopped to the door to the garage, taking her right hand off her wrist long enough to open it and reach out to press the button that opened the garage door. The hand towel was soaked through at the spot over the cut. She hobbled to her bar stools just as she heard sirens coming down the street and saw flashing red lights on her walls as they got closer. The sirens stopped when they got to her driveway and she heard a diesel motor pull in.

The two paramedics came directly through her garage and to the kitchen door. The first one she recognized as one of the few married men in the neighborhood. She didn't think he was as devotedly married as some of the other couples though. He was very short for a man, only 5'4". His black hair and dark eyes and complexion proclaimed his Hispanic heritage. She might have dated him anyway but for the fact that she didn't date men shorter than she was.

Her eyes widened as she saw the second man walk in. She knew Wayne was a paramedic but knowing something in the abstract and seeing the reality walking in her kitchen door were two different things. He was almost a total contrast in appearance to his partner. His strawberry-blond hair, grey eyes, and pale skin practically screamed classic European ancestry. He was also several inches taller.

"Hey, neighbor," he said with a smile. "What's going on tonight?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," she said quickly. "I was just trying to cut up some chicken for supper. I wasn't paying attention and cut my finger." She held it up so they could see. "It startled me. I jerked the knife back but the end of the blade sliced across my inner wrist. I think it hit a vein. I dropped the knife then and it fell, blade down onto my foot. It cut my instep. I couldn't take care of anything except stopping my wrist from bleeding out."

Both men laughed at that. "Most people who try to kill themselves usually do a better job," said the Hispanic guy. "Let's see what happened."

Missy stretched out her left arm for him to examine as Wayne kneeled to inspect her foot. They both worked efficiently but she could tell the subtle difference in their touch. The Hispanic guy, who she heard Wayne call Jose, was impersonal. She could tell he thought of her as just another patient. Wayne's touch was just as efficient but it felt almost like a caress. His fingers lingered just a second longer than his partner's.

They opened the blue bag they'd brought in with them. It looked like a square duffel bag with big pockets on three sides. The top and one whole side unzipped to reveal all kinds of medical paraphernalia that she had no name for. She recognized plastic tubing that was probably used for IV's. She also recognized packets and rolls of gauze when the men took them out and started bandaging her cuts.

"You shouldn't need stitches," Jose startled her by saying. "Would you like to go to the hospital to be checked out?"

"No, I don't think so," she told him. "I can't afford an ER visit."

"Then I'll need your signature on this form," Wayne said. He stood up and handed her a clipboard with a paper clipped to it and a blue gel pen. "I don't think you'll have any scars. If you do they'll be small. When was your last tetanus shot?"

"I'm not too worried about scars," she said as she took the clipboard and pen. "I think I had a tetanus shot three or four years ago. I'm not sure but it hasn't been any longer than that. Will I need to change the bandages any?"

"Probably not," said Jose. "Just keep them dry for 24 hours."

As she signed her name Wayne said, "Oh one more thing. I need your phone number."

"My number?" she asked. "Why?"

"Well I do need it for my report but I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I called to ask you out."

She was torn. She remembered what she was thinking yesterday but thinking and doing were two different things. She couldn't refuse with him standing there. She wrote her number on the correct line on the form then gingerly took hold of Wayne's right hand with her injured left and used the pen she was still holding to write her number on his inner wrist. She knew it would wear off sooner if she'd put it on his hand and if she'd written it on a slip of paper he might accidentally misplace it.

Jose watched this little drama with amusement in his dark eyes. He'd heard of Missy's reputation but didn't know how much of it to believe. She seemed like a nice person regardless and Wayne obviously liked her so he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"If you change your mind about going to the hospital, just call us back," he said, snapping Wayne's attention back to the here and now.

"Ok, I'll remember that," Missy said, blushing just a little. She'd completely forgotten that there was another person in the room.

"Also," Wayne said, "don't take aspirin for any pain. It would probably…"

"…make the bleeding worse," Missy finished the statement. "I know. All I ever take is non-aspirin or ibuprofen anyway."

"The bleeding has stopped so you should be fine," he said. "Our work is finished here. Don't forget to keep the bandages dry for 24 hours. After that just some large band-aids should keep dirt out of the cuts."

Missy thanked them for taking care of her as they walked out the door and back to their vehicle. She pushed the button to close the garage door as soon as they were outside. As she looked around she saw that she'd somehow managed not to get any blood on her chicken. She was still hungry so she poured some vegetable oil in a cast iron skillet, turned on the gas burner underneath it, and limped to the laundry room to toss the bloody hand towel into the empty washer. She turned it on so it would fill with cold water but left the lid up so she could add more clothes later. She got a clean rag from the hall closet and went back to the kitchen to wet it so she could clean up the blood on the floor.

The oil was hot by this time so she put her chicken in to fry. As she cleaned the floor and waited for her supper to finish she wondered if Wayne would really call. She still wasn't sure what she'd tell him if he did. She was equally unsure if she would be relieved or disappointed if he didn't call.

She called in to work the next day. Her foot hurt enough that she couldn't stand for more than a few minutes at a time. Her boss was one of the men she'd dated when she'd first moved to this town a year ago. He was now engaged to a girl Missy thought was thoroughly boring but seemed to make her boss deliriously happy. He laughed a little when Missy told him why she couldn't work that evening and told her to take two days off just to be sure she wouldn't have to go home in the middle of her next shift.

She spent the next two days being very careful to stay off her foot. She took the bandages off when she was supposed to, rinsing the cuts with warm water and putting band-aids on them. Her finger was the least damaged. It didn't look much deeper than a paper cut. Her foot wasn't much worse, being just sore enough to make standing very uncomfortable after an hour or so. Even her wrist wasn't bad despite the vein being nicked. None of the cuts were long. A standard band-aid covered her finger and a large one covered her foot. Two of them kept her wrist from getting dirty.

She went back to work the third day, sitting on the chair in her little bullet-proof cubicle whenever possible. When she got home that night she had to take an ibuprofen. Her foot hurt enough to throb.

She'd been home about an hour when she heard a knock on her front door. She was standing at her bathroom sink with her foot propped up on it putting a fresh band-aid on the cut. She'd already put a fresh band-aid on her wrist and left the cut on her finger uncovered to finish healing. She'd just gotten out of the shower and was only wearing a long terry cloth robe. She'd combed out her wet hair and let it hang in strands to the middle of her back that were becoming ringlets as they dried. She walked slowly to her front door, looking thru the peephole just to be safe. She was surprised to see Wayne standing there.

She opened her door and said, "Hey neighbor. Don't take this as being rude, but what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to check on my patient," he said with a smile.

"Well, come in. Would you like some tea?"

"I'd like you to be dressed and ready to go out in ten minutes."

"Out? Out where?"

He playfully smacks her ass as he says, "Just out sweetie."

"Grr," she growls at him. "Will you at least tell me if I should dress really nice or just casual? I don't want to wear shorts someplace fancy and I don't want to show up in a really nice dress at a barn dance."

"In between will be fine."

"Frustrating man," she mutters to herself as she slowly walks back to her bedroom. She looked back at him, seeing that he'd sat on her couch to wait for her. He was wearing jeans, black work boots and a plain dark blue t-shirt. She decided to find something casual but still nice. She dug around in her panty drawer for a pair of emerald green lace thongs. She found a denim skirt hanging in her closet right away. It was a little longer than the skirts she usually wore, coming to mid-thigh instead of just barely covering her ass. She wore a new top. It was the same emerald green as her panties and her usual style of having a built-in hard-cup bra. She spent several minutes of the ten looking for shoes that wouldn't hurt her sore foot. It seemed like all she had were the tennis shoes she wore to work or the sky-high heels she wore on her dates. She was digging in the back of her closet when she found a pair of black sandals that only had three inch heels. She'd just have to tell Wayne she couldn't go dancing because of her injury. She knew he'd understand.

"Ok, I'm dressed," she said as she walked back into her living room. "Is this ok?"

"You're perfect," he said, raking his eyes over her.

She followed him out of her house, locking the door behind them, and out to where his car sat waiting in her driveway.

"Were you so sure of me?" she asked.

Wayne heard the uncertainty in her voice. "Not really," he said reassuringly. "Just hopeful. I wanted to take you out last night but couldn't get off work."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked as she got in his car.

"Just to a little out-of-the-way place I know of."

"Humph."

He laughed at her pout. She looked so cute sitting there with her arms crossed under her breasts and her lower lip sticking out. Nothing at all like the cock teasing slut her reputation claimed. He'd decided to trust his instincts about her. He didn't think she'd fucked even half of the men who claimed otherwise.

He watched as she looked around when he drove into the old part of the town. He expertly parallel parked on a side street after just ten minutes of driving. She got out of the Porsche with an interested look on her face. He walked around the car and joined her on the sidewalk, offering his arm in an old fashioned gesture. She smiled a little shyly as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. He smiled back and could have sworn that if a streetlight were closer he'd have seen her blush.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?" she asked.

"Nope," he said. "I'll show you."

He crossed the street to a door that had a simple neon sign beside it that read 'open'. There was no other indication that anything was there. He opened the door to reveal a set of seven steps leading into a room with a brightly lit bar against the far left wall with about a dozen bar stools in front of it. Scattered around the floor were a few tables, some big enough for about four people, some just the right size for two. In the two corners opposite the bar were booths big enough for about six people. These were lit by hanging lights and occupied with what looked like people having a business meeting at one and a bachelorette party in the other. The lights at the bar and the ones over the booths provided the only lights besides small hurricane lamps at each of the tables.