In a Class of His Own Ch. 01

This story takes place in the distant past - before smart phones, before internet cafes ... before the internet (when 'you've got mail' meant an envelope with a postage stamp on it). Like most of my stories, this one is hard to categorize: it combines Erotic Couplings and Romance - so I called it a novella. The meaning of the title will become apparent further on.

*

My buddy Steve drove me to the airport. My parents couldn't be bothered. Or maybe they stayed away to make a point. They disapproved of my decision to take a year off after getting my Honours degree. They were convinced that this whole 'Trip to Europe' thing was just nonsense. I was supposed to 'settle down' and get a job.

- "I envy you this trip, Chris." said Steve. "You're going to have a blast."

- "Hope so. Still wish you were coming along, though."

He looked rueful, for a moment. "Nah - I can't. I'm at the critical stage with Kayla - you know? Three months away would be too much."

- "I understand." I said. "She seems like a keeper."

- "Yeah." he said. "That's how I feel. Hey - don't forget to send me a postcard!"

- "I will. Thanks, man." I gave him a hug, and went off to join my travelling companions.

A few months ago, another friend, Glen, had heard that I was going to Europe. He invited himself along.

- "You're going to Europe? We should totally go together, Dude!"

Glen said 'Dude' way too often. But I didn't know how to say 'No' to him. So here I was, at the airport with Glen, his girlfriend Ellen, and her older sister, Maureen.

I knew Ellen from high school. She was a good-looking, social butterfly type - and therefore utterly out of my league. But she knew my ex-girlfriend, and we had run into each other a few times a year after graduation.

Her sister, Maureen - everybody called her 'Moe' - was three years ahead of us in school. I had seen her perform in a school play, in a comedic role - she had made me laugh several times. Moe was shorter than her sister, wore frumpy clothes that hid her shape, and never seemed to bother with makeup. She always looked just slightly dishevelled, with her hair out of place, her sweater wrinkled, or one sock falling down.

But for some reason, Moe was more attractive than her sister - or my ex, for that matter. There was just something ... indefinable about her. She was who she was, and she didn't seem to care what anybody else thought.

The girls took some time at the check-in counter, insisting that they needed aisle seats, directly across from one another. They were so persistent, that I leaned over to whisper to Glen: "What's the big deal?"

Moe heard me. "It is a big deal. Both of us suffer from TB, and it's a long flight."

- "TB?" I repeated.

- "Tiny bladder." said Moe. "You don't want us climbing over you every hour to go to the can, do you?"

We had time for a couple of drinks before boarding, so all four of us were lubricated before we even got on the plane. I ended up in the middle seat, between Moe and an elderly woman. I helped the old lady get her carry on into the overhead bin, then sat down with my book. This trip seemed like the perfect opportunity to read Lord of the Rings again.

If that sounds anti-social, I should point out that Glen and the sisters were only going to be with me for a few days. I had three months, and I planned to spend the first third of it in Britain and Ireland. They had two weeks, and were only going to be in London for three days before heading off to Amsterdam and then Paris.

I had tried to convince Glen that they needed more than two weeks, but he was convinced that they could see everything they wanted to see in that time. I didn't try particularly hard to talk him out of it. I think I was mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to be with them for very long.

The old lady beside me did crossword puzzles for a while, and then put a pillow behind her head. I offered her mine, if it would help.

- "I should be fine." she said. "Thank you, though." She closed her eyes.

Glen, Ellen and Moe wanted to play cards, but it just wasn't practical, with all the traffic up and down the aisle. Glen started to play some two-handed game with Ellen, which left Moe on her own. She ordered another drink, and a beer for me - yeah, they were complimentary in those days.

- "Are you the one dating Carol Sullivan?" she asked me.

- "I was."

- "Not anymore? You finally dumped her?"

- "No - she broke off with me."

- "Oh. Sorry." said Moe. "Why?"

I put my book down. "You really want to know?" I said.

- "Why not?" said Moe. "Five more hours in the air. Tell Aunt Moe all about it."

- "Is this a free consultation?" I asked.

- "Well, you might have to buy me another drink or two."

- "I can afford that."

- "Alright. So what happened? With Carol?"

It felt odd, to be discussing Carol with a near-stranger. I hadn't even told Steve the whole story. It might have been the beer I'd consumed, or the strangeness of being on a plane over the Atlantic. Or maybe it was something about Moe that encouraged openness.

- "When I told Carol that I was going to take a year off to travel and work, she wasn't too happy. She dumped me a week later."

- "What was she supposed to do while you went travelling?" asked Moe.

- "I was sort of hoping that she'd come with me."

- "Oh."

- "She wanted me to start my 'career'." I said.

- "What the fuck can you do with an undergraduate degree?" said Moe. "If you're lucky, you can be a glorified gopher for the suits in some big company."

- "Exactly." I said. "A fate worse than death. I told Carol that I wanted to work for a while, and make up my mind about what I want to do. I was considering maybe volunteering overseas - or possibly teaching." At that point, I remembered my manners.

"What do you do, Moe?" I asked.

- "I'm a glorified gopher for the suits in a big company." she said.

- "Oh. Shoot - I'm sorry."

She laughed. "I'm just fucking with you. I'm a research assistant - one step above glorified gopher."

I glanced towards the elderly lady, to see if she had heard those F-bombs, but she appeared to be asleep.

"So, Carol?" prompted Moe.

- "Oh. She, ah ... she wasn't too keen on me teaching."

- "She dumped you for that?" said Moe. "Well, Chris, I don't know you very well, but you can take my word for it: you're lucky to be rid of her. She would have made your life miserable. Or she would have dumped you later. Worst case-scenario: a few years from now, she's fucking your boss behind your back."

I just stared at Moe. That was ... a really harsh thing to say. But a part of me - a fairly large part of me - agreed with her.

- "You ... you may be right." I said.

- "Damn straight. I've known Carol since she and Ellen were in Grade 6. Carol's a bitch. No two ways about it. You're lucky to be rid of her."

I had been heartbroken, or depressed, for months. Moe was the first person to suggest that getting dumped might have been a positive thing. She saw my confusion.

"Come on, Chris. She was a user. How many times did she make you pay for pussy?"

I choked on my beer. The old lady still seemed to be asleep, but I couldn't believe that Moe was talking like this.

- "Wh - what?" I got out.

- "Tell the truth." said Moe. "Did Carol ever bang you without getting something first? I bet she had you running errands for her, and kissing her ass for days before she let you get a sniff."

That was just a little too ... exact. Carol was a beautiful girl, my first and only sexual partner. But she had treated me like a beast of burden, making me drive her everywhere, and follow her around while she shopped, or 'power-lunched' with people who were supposed to be important.

I had to accompany her to visit her great-aunt, or help her organize a shower for one of her friends who was getting married. She had me running errands on Saturday, and driving her to church on Sunday. I must have scowled at the memory.

Moe saw it.

- "How long did you go out with her?" she asked.

- "Almost two years." I said.

- "So ... how long did you have to date her before she finally let you fuck her?" asked Moe. "I mean ... how long did she make you wait?"

- "I - umm ..."

- "How long, Chris?" Moe flagged down a stewardess, and ordered a couple more drinks for us.

- "Nine months." I have no idea why I admitted this. I glanced at Glen, but he was already asleep, and Ellen didn't seem to be paying attention either.

- "I'll bet she made you eat pussy, though." said Moe. "Tell me this: what was the ratio of blowjobs to eating pussy? Did she ever blow you?"

- "Ummm ..." The truth was, Carol could rarely get into 'the mood' for intercourse, unless I brought her to orgasm orally first. But she didn't like my dick in her mouth; she said it made her gag. It was 'dirty' and 'uncomfortable'.

I have no idea what possessed me, but I told Moe.

- "Yeah." she said. "That's what I thought. That's why I'm saying it. You're better off without her."

I tried to change the subject. "You know Moe, I saw you in that school play, when you were a senior. You were fantastic. I laughed my ass off." I glanced at the old lady before saying 'ass' - but she seemed to be out cold.

- "Thanks, Chris. But we're discussing your pathetic sex life." Of course, the stewardess arrived with our drinks, just as she said that. I wanted to crawl under the seat and disappear.

- "Thanks, Moe." I said, semi-sarcastically.

- "For the beer, or for embarrassing you in front of the stewardess?" said Moe. "What? You were going to hit on her? Get serious."

I had no answer for that.

"So tell me this, Chris: how many girls did you sleep with before Carol?"

Moe saw my face.

"Oh, shit - none? She was your first?"

There was no possible answer that would allow to maintain even a shred of self-esteem. Moe didn't let me off the hook, though. She turned sideways in her seat, and subjected me to a thorough visual examination. I felt like a bug pinned in a display case.

- "I don't get it." she said. "You're not bad-looking. You have all of your teeth. And you seem like a nice enough guy. But you were still a virgin at - what, 19?"

- "I was waiting." I said, in my own defence. "I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved. You never forget your first time."

Moe didn't mock me, or roll her eyes. "That's fair." she said. "Lots of people don't even think of that. But you still ended up with a bitch who treated sex like something you had to earn."

I could only nod. Moe had hit the nail on the head.

"Maybe you're too nice a guy." she suggested.

- "Pardon?"

- "Ever heard the saying 'Nice guys finish last'? Ever notice how many idiots are out there, picking up girls, better than you are?" said Moe.

"I'm not suggesting that you should be a prick. And arrogant assholes are a turn-off. But have you ever wondered why other guys are more successful with women than you are? What do they have that you don't?"

I had to think that one over. What could be wrong with being nice?

- "Well," I suggested, "if a girl doesn't appreciate me for who I am, then maybe she's not the girl for me. In the long run."

- "The long run?" Moe laughed aloud. "What about the short run? Or do you see a girl, and try to decide right away if she's the one you're going to marry?"

My face fell - that was uncomfortably close to the mark - again. And judging by Moe's tone, she didn't think much of that approach.

"Really?" she said. "But what about ... what about just asking a pretty girl to go out with you, and then seeing what happens?"

"Were you planning to marry Carol?" she asked.

- "That's ... complicated." I said.

- "Let me guess." said Moe. "At first, you thought something like, 'This is the one'. That's why you waited so long before she had sex with you. Then you were having sex, and you didn't want to mess that up. So you stuck around, even though she was being a bitch."

- "You make it sound ... so bad. I made a commitment." I said.

- "A commitment to a bitch."

I couldn't deny that anymore. I was also amazed by how quickly Moe had gotten inside my head. She barely knew me, but her diagnosis was frighteningly accurate.

- "So what do you suggest?" I asked.

- "I don't know." she said. "What am I, some kind of therapist?"

- "You've been bang on so far."

She bit her lip. "Look, I'm not trying to give you life advice, or ... well, maybe I am. I'm just thinking aloud. Instead of looking at every girl as if she might be 'the One', why don't you just ask her out? Spend some time with her, have fun ... maybe get lucky, and then find out if she's the right one for you."

- "That doesn't sound so bad." I admitted. "But ..."

- "But you're no good at asking girls out." said Moe. "That's what I'm talking about. It's just confidence. And you've got as much reason to be confident as most guys."

Moe excused herself to go to the bathroom.The old lady next to me stirred, and I glanced her way. Her eyes were wide open, and she was looking right at me.

- "Your friend is right." she said. "You seem like a very nice boy - but confidence, in a man, is very attractive." She smiled, and then closed her eyes again.

She had been listening the whole time! Apparently the subject matter - and Moe's frequent F-bombs - hadn't offended her at all. I looked at the old lady again - and wondered what she had been like as a younger woman.

When Moe got back, she ordered us another round of drinks. We talked a bit more, about people we both knew, but she avoided returning to the subject of my love life. After a while, she got sleepy, and dozed off.

***

There are dozens of things to see in London. And the other three waited for me to tell them what to do. Somehow, I was appointed unofficial tour guide. So I took them from the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, to St Paul's Cathedral. We walked Fleet Street, and the Strand, to Westminster. 10 Downing Street, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly ... you get the idea.

I wanted to see the British Museum, and the National Gallery, but it quickly became apparent that neither of those places would appeal to my companions. I think they just wanted to tick off items on their list, so that they could tell other people they'd 'done' them.

But they liked pubs, and we saw quite a few. On their last night in London, we were in a traditional pub, enjoying the atmosphere. Glen and Ellen announced that they were tired, and wanted to go back to our B&B. I thought that included everyone, but as I started to get up, Moe grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

- "See you later!" she said to Glen and Ellen. "We stay." she said to me.

- "Oh."

Moe cocked her head, and looked at me sideways.

- "Really? Are you that clued out?"

- "Umm ... about what?"

- "They're going back to the B&B to fuck, Chris. They've been all over each other all day. You really didn't notice anything?"

I hadn't. "Are you not paying attention?" she asked. "Or do you not get the signals?"

- "Probably a bit of both." I admitted.

- "A bit?" said Moe. "OK - buy me a pint, and I'll try to help you out."

Armed with a fresh beer, Moe set the scenario. "OK - so, imagine that I'm a nice girl from work, or school, or whatever. So pretend that you're attracted to me. You'd like to get into my pants - or at least get a second date, and then get to know me better."

- "Alright."

- "So how would you show me that you're interested?" she asked.

- "I already did." I said. "I asked you out."

- "Sure." said Moe. "But as a friend? Or because you want me to introduce you to my hotter girlfriend? How am I supposed to know that you want me?"

- "I would ask you out again. If I liked you."

- "Jesus." said Moe. "Chris: you aren't getting a second date unless I like you. So show me that you're interested - that you want to take me back to the B&B and fuck my brains out."

That was blurring the line a bit, between a pretend scenario and reality. I wanted to tell Moe that I had no idea. I hadn't had a date in years. And I wasn't very good at it before Carol, in any case. So I just gave her my best sincere smile.

- "I really like you, Moe." I said.

- "Oh, Christ." she moaned. "It's a good thing the survival of the species doesn't depend on you. We'd be extinct in no time."

"Look, Chris - why would I want to sleep with you?" she said. "Or, to put it in your language, why would I want to go on a second date?"

- "I don't know." I said. It was the honest truth.

- "Confidence, Chris - remember? You're a nice guy, but that's something I can discover for myself after we've had mind-blowing sex. On our second or third date."

Honestly, Moe talked that way. I was blushing, beet red, and struggling to conceal an indecent erection.

"Look." she said. "You have to act like you're awesome. Don't tell me, or try to show me, by some stupid display of male prowess. Just act like it's obvious - you're a great guy, and I'd be a fool not to hop on. Literally."

"Since that's a given, you can devote some time to letting me know why you're interested in me."

- "You're so smart." I said, genuinely impressed. "How did you learn all of this?"

- "See - that wasn't bad." she said. "Compliment my intelligence. But if you want to get me into bed, you have to aim a little lower, too."

"Is it warm, in here?" said Moe. She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her sweater, and tugged it a little lower. I realized two things: Moe wasn't wearing a bra, and she had sizeable breasts. Bigger than I had expected, at least.

"I'm going to assume that you've seen tits before." she said. "So what you want to do is let me know that you appreciate the view, without drooling - and preferably with your mouth closed."

For the next hour - and two more pints - Moe showed me a variety of non-verbal signals, and tested me on their meaning.

She glanced at her watch, or over my shoulder - signs that she was bored, losing interest, or praying for the ordeal to be over.

She tilted her head, smiled, touched her hair, crossed her legs, licked her lips - all signs that she was interested me. I misread half of them.

- "Women are always sending signals." she explained. "Sometimes they're subtle, but if a guy is smart enough, he'll know that we want him to come over. See, a lot of guys don't wait for the signal. They just hit on the prettiest chick available. And that's why they get shot down."

"Everybody thinks that men make the first move. But most of the time, it's the woman who initiates contact. I'll admit it: sometimes the signals are too subtle, or contradictory - girls need time to figure out if a guy is worth it."

She slowly crossed her legs, and let one shoe dangle from the end of her foot.

- "What's that?" she asked.

- "You have to pee?" I guessed.

Moe laughed. "Ok - how about this?" She raised one shoulder, and turned her head to look at it. Her eyes were partially closed.

- "Wow." I said. "That was ... hot."

- "It's supposed to be."

At that point, a big lad in a soccer jersey loomed up behind her.

- "Buy you a drink?" he asked.

Moe turned to look at him. It only took three seconds before she said "No, thanks. I'm good."

- "You a Yank?" he asked. "I like Yanks."

- "That's great." said Moe. "But I'm not American."

- "Neither am I." he said. "So we 'ave that in common."

- "Look," she said, "I'm in the middle of a conversation."

- "I don't mind."

At that point, I thought that Moe might need my help. Was I trying to impress her? Maybe.

- "Hey - the lady is with me." I said. "She's not interested."

Soccer jersey turned on me in a flash, as if he had been waiting for that opportunity.