Revenge of the Nerd

He had a soothing voice. He was either well-practiced or sincere, and he clearly was not well-practiced.

"It wasn't crazy. It was just an understandable reaction given your experience. Enough said. The incident is forgotten. So what did you have in mind?"

He was way more understanding of me than I would have been of him, or would have been of myself for that matter. If he would only yell at me I would feel more like I deserved another chance.

"Study. Thursday? My place?" I asked.

"I've got something Thursday. What about the weekend?"

I had not been turned down; I had been postponed. I was not used to being postponed. People changed their schedules to accommodate me. This was new territory. Practically everything about Jeff was new territory.

Friday and Saturday nights were prime dating and party nights at school. As much as I wanted to experience him, I had to maintain my standing in my social circle.

"What about Sunday night?"

"It's a date."

As Sunday approached, I had a sense of anticipation which I tried hard to suppress. This was just another date, and not a top quality date at that. But the knot in my insides didn't agree.

It couldn't just be that he might have something to teach me sexually. He didn't fawn over me. He had refused to kiss me, just walked away like I was rancid fish. He thought of me as intelligent, which was correct though I'm not sure anybody else had recognized it. He thought I had a nice personality when I wasn't acting like Her Royal Highness. Basically, he was completely unexpected and had me all shook up.

I don't know what he did, but I found myself studying Sunday afternoon. I'm not sure why. I think I just wanted to be sure I would have time to spend with him before he left. I must have misjudged because I had little to do when he arrived.

He noticed.

I had to explain. "I guess I've been doing my work and I'm caught up. When we set this up I thought I'd have much more to do. But you can do your work. I'll find something to read. It's just nice to be here together."

That was the first time I had ever said that and I think I meant it.

"That's nice of you to say. I like spending time with you too. As far as my work, I'm pretty much up to date myself."

"I thought you had so much to do, all those advanced classes and stuff."

"Yeah, well, I keep up. I put in the time. In fact, most of the time you don't see me I'm studying."

I suspected the truth was that the work was easy for him. Nonetheless, I accepted his generous distortion of the truth.

"Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. You need to have some fun."

"Well, Jill, you're going to have to show Jack how to break out of his drudgery."

"Okay. Let me put on some music and we'll dance."

I found the campus station on the radio and started moving to the beat. He didn't.

"What's the problem, Jack?"

"I kind of don't know how to dance like that. I took ballroom dancing lessons but I never learned this."

He was proving the nerd stereotype, though I thought they waited until they were older for that. Ballroom? I took his hand.

"Come on, just move to the beat. You can feel the beat, can't you? You must be able to do that for your ballroom dancing." I showed him how to move. "Just feel the music."

He did surprisingly well. I had expected him to be awkward, but he didn't move like your average nerd. Maybe it was the ballroom lessons.

Something slow came on. He seemed to have a good idea how to get me to move with him and I loved being held against him. I could feel his confidence.

When the song ended I turned off the radio.

"There's something else I would like to do. I really, incredibly loved it when we were kissing. It was by far the best I've ever had. Do you think you could work some more of your magic?"

He laughed.

"It was very nice. I liked it too. But I think you have the wrong impression about what happened."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You thought I was really good, didn't you?"

"You better believe it."

"Not entirely true. I'm competent. There really isn't a lot of variation as to what you can do. It wasn't skill, it was mostly you."

"What are you talking about? It was both of us kissing and I gotta tell you, I've had enough experience to tell you that you were very good."

"What were you thinking when you started kissing me?" he asked. "You were thinking about the first time, weren't you? And when you did, you probably decided you'd show me what kissing was all about, that I wasn't as special as Jen said. Wasn't that how you were feeling?"

Did he read my diary?

"Well, kind of. But you made it great."

"No. You made it great. You wanted to show me what knee-wobbling, passionate kissing was all about, so you did. But that put you in a mood to enjoy knee-wobbling, passionate kissing. You were primed and ready to go. About all I had to do was not slobber down your chin. You gave passion. You felt passion. You were in a perfect frame of mind to enjoy it, so you did."

"I don't believe that," I said. "You had skill. You had technique."

"You probably can't even describe what I did. It wasn't because my tongue moved to this spot or that. It was because you were emotionally involved, not in me, but in kissing. If you got the same technique from a poodle, would you say it was great kissing?"

"Yuk. What a disgusting thought."

"Exactly. The first time, your attitude was so lousy, nothing I could have done would have been any good for you. The second time your attitude was so good that almost nothing I could have done would have made it bad for you."

"Well, maybe," I conceded. "But I still have my doubts."

"You know, it's the same for most things. If you go in with the attitude that it's going to be a positive experience, that you're going to enjoy yourself, you almost always will. When you go with a chip on your shoulder, you rarely enjoy it."

That resonated. When I went to a party with an attitude, it always sucked.

How did he know so much about people that he didn't have to know anything about kissing? Or did he? He was always surprising me and that was scary. I'm not a big fan of surprises. I like to know what to expect.

"Well, if the proper attitude is all that's required for a hot session of kissing, I plan to enjoy the hell out of it."

"Then I guess I'm going to be really good," Jeff said.

And he was. Or I was. Or we were. Oh, however it works. I was thoroughly aroused and I was ready for much more. I took his hand and led him toward the bedroom.

At my door he resisted.

"You go in. I want to get something. I'll be right in. Don't start without me. Or do if you want to."

I started to undress. If he was as good as Jennifer said, I didn't want to waste any time getting out of my clothes. I heard noises from what sounded like the kitchen. Did he need to eat something to prepare himself because he was expecting such a strenuous session? Just a whimsical thought.

He appeared at my door with his hands behind his back. "Why did you get undressed?" He was genuinely disappointed. "That's part of the experience. Well, we can still have a good time."

He had some nerve telling me what the experience required. He moved to my night table and put a bowl down on it. It was filled with ice cubes.

I started to laugh.

"This is your big technique? You're going to drip melting ice cubes on me like Mickey Rourke did in 9 ½ weeks? Geeze, what an original thought."

He stood shaking his head. "I, you, can't even ..." Then he turned and walked out of my room.

"Hey, where are you going? I'm just saying..."

What was I saying? Was my objective to drive him away?

I heard the front door slam. Did I want this experience, this relationship, if it was a relationship, to fail?

Maybe I was sabotaging it because I was afraid it would end in disaster.

Maybe I was sabotaging it because I was afraid it would end in success and what would that mean about who I was?

The first time I met him I challenged him about kissing. Then I blew him off for his handling of my breasts. Now I ridiculed him for wanting to try something with ice cubes. Maybe it would have been exciting even if it was cliché. I was pissed. But I wasn't sure who I was pissed at. Jennifer got another call.

"He brought ice cubes into my room." I couldn't hide the annoyance in my voice.

"Oh, you lucky girl."

Was she making fun of me? She cooed it like she really meant it. What was I supposed to say?

"Wasn't it unbelievable?" she asked.

Unbelievable might be the right word.

"To tell you the truth, I thought it was weird. All the stuff he does is weird. I didn't even let him get use them. He does this weird stuff and I'm supposed to think it's sexy?"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Huh?"

"It's from Hamlet, you know, Shakespeare. He took me Thursday night. Hamlet's mother, the queen, speaks the line while they're watching a play. Anyway, I'm just saying you're complaining an awful lot about him if you really don't like him. So you probably do."

"That's silly. He's just a guy."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Stop that. He took you to see Hamlet?"

"Yes."

"What a nerd."

"Well, yes. But so what? It's my favorite Shakespeare."

"So what's with this ice cube thing?" I asked.

"Oh, no. It's not my place to tell you. If you ever manage to convince him to see you again, and what is this, your third strike, maybe you'll find out.

"What's with you anyway? Why do you keep acting this way with him? If you don't want to see him, just don't see him. Don't torment the guy."

What do I tell her? Am I acting this way? If so, why?

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing. I'll have to try to figure this out."

"Good luck."

Would it be good luck to be able to get him to give me another try or to just decide to call the whole thing off? Damned if I knew.

Chapter 3

What was happening to me? How could I be in such turmoil over this, nobody? I really needed to talk to someone who could help me look at this objectively.

The problem was, I couldn't talk this over with my best friend; I didn't have one.

I had friends, but a show of weakness might have encouraged them to try to usurp my position of pre-eminence. Shit! What kind of life was I leading that I didn't have a best friend? Nerds have them. Even pathetic losers have pathetic-loser best friends. I had no one.

It was almost unthinkable, but I knew that I would talk to him again, ask him to forgive me, again.

Was it the sex I anticipated? Was that enough for me to humiliate myself?

What if he told someone? I could deny it. Instinctively I knew he would never do that. Was I starting to feel something for him? Don't be ridiculous. Or doth I protest too much?

Perhaps why I was doing it didn't matter. But how was a problem. I had to come up with something really good, an excuse that would be compelling to him.

I thought about our last encounter and realized I had probably hurt his feelings. Maybe I had all three times I treated him badly. I started to feel a little remorse.

I didn't recall ever feeling remorse before, but I could use that. There was no story I could come up with that seemed even remotely acceptable so I decided I would need to do the most humiliating thing of all: be honest with him again.

"So I'm really sorry I made you feel bad. The worst part for me is that I don't know for sure why I did it. I think I'm afraid of you."

That was true.

"I think I'm afraid I could have really strong feelings for you."

That was baseless speculation.

I got no response from him. Again, I needed to do more.

"It's just, I'm afraid, learning new things from somebody so young. You're not the usual kind of guy I go out with, Jeff."

I waited to see if I would need to elaborate further. I was struggling. If he bought this, I would never lie to him again. Maybe.

"I can't help you with your feelings. I have enough trouble with my own. But maybe I can help with the other stuff. You might have the same learning style I do. I can't just learn how to do something, I need to understand why it's done that way. Once I do, I own it forever. And before I do, it's just words or movements or whatever. That part I can do something about."

"So you forgive me? I would feel terrible if you didn't."

Not to mention I would never get to explore all the stuff Jen raved about.

"I forgive you," he said. "That must have been very difficult for you to talk about."

What a pushover! Or was he just a nice guy?

"Let me make it up to you in the traditional way. Let me make dinner for you on Friday. Or Saturday or Sunday, whenever you're available. I'm a pretty good cook."

Which was true. It was a skill I figured I would need eventually so I took the time to learn and it was even kind of fun.

"Me too." Was there anything this guy couldn't do? "Do you need any help? I could be your prep chef."

He knew everything. He did everything. He was helpful, patient, considerate. When we talked he seemed interested in whatever I said, whatever I was thinking. It was enough to make me sick.

Outside of the fact that he had no money, only slightly above-average looks and no athletic talent he was almost the perfect guy.

"No, thanks," I said. "I'd like to do it myself. After all, I'm the one who hasn't behaved all that well. I want to make it up to you at least a little."

"You're forgiven. You're forgiven. There's nothing to make up."

"Just the same, this is something I want to do for you."

Maybe I would earn enough points to get me through my next blunder.

"Fair enough."

I made New York strip steak rubbed with crushed garlic. I used rubber gloves. I didn't want him smelling it on my hands. I also made candied sweet potatoes which I learned from my grandmother one Thanksgiving when my parents were in Europe.

A growing boy needs his green vegetables my mother used to say, so I added buttered green beans. Actually she used to say growing girl, and it might have been the cook instead of my mother, but you get the idea.

I told him I would clean up and that he should retire to the living room to smoke a cigar.

"I don't smoke," he said.

"It's just a concept. You don't actually need to smoke."

I cleaned up and called him in for dessert, a chocolate cream pie. I didn't make it myself, that would be just a bit too domestic. But I know guys like chocolate, and I read it puts everybody in the mood. He had two slices which made me happy with my choice. I led the way to the living room. I tried to start my dessert with some kissing. He preferred conversation.

"Did you ever have a really good meal in a fine restaurant?"

"Of course."

I did date the well-heeled and my family was obscenely wealthy. But why is he talking about food when he's got a sure thing?

"Even though people are all the same, we all have basically the same parts, we all have taste buds, but we taste things differently, we feel things differently, we smell them differently.

"There are minor and major differences in our reactions to the same things even though we're all human. The same meal will be experienced differently by two people eating at the same time at the same table. It's an exquisite meal but we each appreciate it our own way."

Blah, blah, blah.

"When you eat that meal, they break up the courses. They bring you a sorbet at some point to kind of reset your taste buds so that what you've eaten before won't affect how you experience the next course. Sex is like that too."

All right, so it wasn't blah, blah, blah.

"Not everybody reacts the same. Some women have little reaction to stimulation of their nipples, some are driven crazy by it. You can't expect the same things to work for everybody. That's why it can be such an individual thing and you have to take your time to find out what works.

"You also need that little intermezzo between courses, like the sorbet. That's why taking off your clothes last time skipped a step. You don't sit down to a fine meal with the attitude let's get this crap on the table and shovel it down already. And you don't whip off your clothes, hop on the bed and say, 'Jump on, I'm in a hurry.'

"I mean sometimes you might, like let's get a quick burger. But that's not the way to savor it."

"That's my general philosophy. I thought it would be helpful to understand why I do it the way I do. Maybe it will help you be more comfortable to know why I'm doing things you may find, unusual."

"I think that may help. So when are you going to jump on? I'm in a hurry."

"Very funny. In just a couple of minutes. My mount will have a degree of difficulty of 3.7 but I will be trying some moves that are as yet unrated by the judges."

"Let's go."

"I need to make a stop in the kitchen."

"No comment this time."

I also didn't get started without him. He returned with a bowl of ice cubes and I giggled.

"Just nerves." I said.

We started with the kissing, always a good place to start. This time he ran his hands through my hair and was massaging my scalp with his fingers. It would have been heavenly even without the kissing.

He started at my hairline and pressed with his fingers as he ran both hands to the back of my head and down to my neck. He moved them back up across the sides of my head, always pressing, rotating the tips of his fingers. He did it a few times and then started down my arms. That was when I realized I had been so lost in the sensations that again I had failed to reciprocate at all.

I untucked a different InTime shirt from his pants and pulled it over his head before he could do something else to make me forget that I was supposed to be an active participant.

He was fairly thin but seemed to have some muscle that he had kept well hidden from me. I didn't care.

I ran my fingers over his chest. He ran his fingers over mine. He took his time. He took too much damn time. I started to pull my blouse out from my skirt but he gripped my hands to stop me.

"Do you have another appointment after this?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why the rush? Would you slam down an appetizer so you could get the meal over with as soon as possible?"

I let go of my blouse. He ran his hands up my sides to my shoulders then across to the center. He unbuttoned one button on my blouse and then moved his hands around to my back. I shivered.

"I wouldn't slam down the appetizer, but if I took as long as you're taking," I said, "I would be ready for another meal before I was done the first."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing in this context," he said.

Back around to the front and there went another button.

This was maddening. While I had the concentration I frantically attacked his belt. My urgency made my attempts as inept as a virgin trying to unhook his first bra without benefit of seeing the mechanism. His mouth attacked mine with greater urgency. I let go of the belt and put my arms around him, pulling him tighter to me.

In spite of that, he dispatched yet another button. His back was smooth. It felt muscular. I think it did. I don't know. Mostly what I was thinking was get my damn clothes off.

I decided to do the head massage myself. When I finished, I realized there were no buttons left and he was sliding my arms out of the blouse. I pushed him off me, sat up and tossed the blouse away from the bed. Before he could stop me I whipped off my bra and sent it flying.

He laughed and started rubbing his cheeks against my breasts. His cheeks? Where does he come up with this crazy stuff?

I loved it.

He lightly sucked my nipples moving back and forth and then blew on them. I know Rome wasn't built in a day, but if they had progressed at this rate, the empire would never have fallen because it wouldn't be built yet.