Meabh, Queen of Connaught-and Evan

My admin assistant had stepped in from her connecting office and caught me watching Meabh's ass.

"Nice," she grinned, following my gaze, "I like her too. Take her to Salvio's. I'll make the reservations."

"Sandy," I began--

"Ah, ah, ah. You're taking her to Salvio's. I have spoken," she proclaimed with a faux stern glare that was slightly betrayed by a small grin.

"You think I don't know how much you like her?" she added, more gently, "I'm right next door, remember? And she pretty clearly likes you. So treat her right and get over yourself."

I gave Sandy my best "You're in Deep Shit" look. She wasn't fazed.

"You don't understand," I tried again--

"I DO understand, Evan. I understand completely. Rebecca and I had some heart to hearts. She did NOT want you turning into a grumpy old bachelor. It's time, Evan. Take her to Salvio's and try not to screw it up."

"What,"--- I started, only to have Sandy talk over me again.

"Completely, Evan. I understand--Completely. Do you hear me? Completely. It's time to be with someone you care about. From my point of view, which you know is never wrong, you care a lot about Meabh, so don't pretend you don't."

Sandy had her hands on her hips now. The stern look didn't have a trace of grin anymore.

"Don't deprive Meabh of the chance to make her own decision about whatever you think your issue is. Rebecca did, remember? Rebecca made her own decision. Rebecca adored you. The way I see it, pushing Meabh away is more likely to hurt both of you than it is to keep either of you from getting hurt. She's slotted for Tom's unit, so 'fraternization' isn't an issue. End of discussion. Take her out. Then talk to me tomorrow. You're my boss, but you're also too much of a friend to let you shoot yourself in the foot here, Evan."

Sandy went back through the pass through and closed the door. I saw the phone light up.

My hands were shaking.

I began planning all the ways I could back out.

All afternoon, I replayed Sandy's comments in my mind--more like her intervention, really.

Sandy and Rebecca had "heart to hearts?" What the fuck did that mean.

Did Rebecca really tell her my issue? I couldn't believe that. "I understand completely" Sandy said, leaning on "completely!" Said it a bunch, in fact. Did she mean Rebecca told her I had "an issue" that would get in my way, or did she tell her about THE issue? Rebecca wouldn't gossip about me. Would she?

When I was home, I excavated the grief counseling stuff I'd started on right after Rebecca died. It had been over 3 years now--almost 4. I didn't like it at the time, the counseling stuff, I mean. It didn't seem to help all that much. I'd ignored most of the things I was supposed to do.

I made it through all of two group sessions before bailing out. It was just so formulaic and so insufferably, fucking trite.

I was supposed to "journal," for instance. Keep a diary in other words, and when the fuck did "journal" become a verb!!. I didn't do it. I mean, "Dear Diary?!?" Fuck that. I'd forgotten even starting it, but clearly I did--the pages were still in the folder.

One paragraph leaped out:

"It took me a long time to find a woman who could love me for what I am instead of laughing at me for what I'm not. Is there another Rebecca? She said so. She said I'd find one, and that I should look. She said I wasn't the kind of guy to live alone and that if I tried, I'd get all twisted up inside. But I know what came before Rebecca. Fuck, do I ever know. I'm so tired of that. So bone-weary of it. I think I'd rather be alone."

Hmm. Haven't changed that line of thinking, have I?

Rebecca was awfully perceptive. She always was, about almost everything, but especially about me. That's what I lifted out of that little scrap of writing. No denying the disasters that came from women before her, but Rebecca said there would be someone, and that I'd find her.

I decided to live into the hope of her wisdom.

I didn't cancel the reservations.

As I showered, I thought back over all the phone calls I'd had with Meabh, and how my spirits lifted when Sandy announced her incoming calls.

I thought of her ass as she walked away from my door, too! My dick sure liked her ass! It stiffened to full attention at the memory! Down, boy! You're the cause of all my troubles, aren't you, you little prick!

He didn't go down, so I jacked off. It didn't take long.

Meabh looked stunning!

Her hair, which she had worn up at the office, was down over her shoulders. She was dressed in a silky navy blouse, ivory linen skirt and a matching linen jacket. No cleavage on display, and no "jiggle" as she walked toward me. She wore high heels--maybe 3"--and walked like she was born in them. As I opened the lobby door and stood aside for her to pass, I noticed the heels made her fabulous ass just that much hotter. I felt a hardon start again.

"Where to, Evan?" she asked.

"I hope Irish girls like Italian restaurants," I answered, "because we've got a fabulous one."

"How are their cannolis?" she wanted to know.

"World's best, this side of Rome," I assured her.

The string of surprises began as we entered the restaurant.

"Ah, Mr. Evan and Miss Meabh, it is such a pleasure to receive you tonight," the maitre d' intoned in heavily accented English. At least I thought it was the maitre d'. "I am Salvio, and I have our best table for you."

"HUH!?!"I thought to myself. Then, "Oh. Sandy."

Meabh's eyes widened appreciatively and she gave me a quiet nod as Salvio led the way.

Our table, unlike any of the others, had an extravagant flower arrangement and a bottle of champagne on ice. It was semi-secluded and elegantly set. The reservation card had our first names in flourished script: "Evan and Meabh." Her name was spelled correctly; she smiled at that. We scooted into our booth from opposite ends. I glanced down as she tugged her skirt back into place, but not before noticing the tops of her thigh-highs. Sexy! Little Evan twitched again.

Our server was on hand immediately to fill our water glasses and ask if we'd like him to open the champagne now or later. Now, we decided, and toasted her arrival.

"You must come here a lot," she whispered, "very impressive!"

"Um, not all that much, actually. I like it a lot, but I didn't even know the guy who greeted us was the owner. It's Sandy. She likes you and she's in Yentl mode. Or maybe matchmaker. She didn't even let me get a chance to pick the spot, just announced we were coming here and made the reservations."

"Is she always like that?" she laughed.

"Hardly ever. She's good. She's wicked smart, uber-organized and self-starting, but she usually stays out of my personal life."

"Wow. She's always nice to me on the phone, but now I think I'm flattered. Should I be?"

"Absolutely. Both personally and related to the company underground."

"So... Wow... Again. She wants us to be a couple? Has she pushed you toward anyone before?"

"Yes. And no. She absolutely wants me to, um, court you. And no, she's never done this before."

"How come, do you think, Evan?"

"Do you mean 'How come she hasn't before' or 'How come she did now'?"

"Now."

"I'm not positive. Sandy and Rebecca saw each other outside the office. They were in the same sorority, or society or something. PEO? They never tell what it stands for. Pop Eats Out, I think because I always got booted when the meeting was at our place. Anyway, Sandy seems to see herself as acting on Rebecca's behalf to take care of my, ah, social well being. At least regarding you. And to be more honest than I'm comfortable with, she reads me pretty well."

"I'm struggling," Meabh said, "not to press you on your thoughts. About me, that is. Sorry, I guess I just did. Forget I said that."

I let some silence roll by. Enough silence that it began to feel awkward. She took a breath and started to fill the silence until I lifted a finger.

"I, ah---I, well, Meabh, I..."

Tears welled in my eyes and I couldn't find words.

"Evan," she placed her hand on my arm, "Evan you don't have to say a thing, and..."

I interrupted.

"Meabh, I care very deeply about you. I do. You make me feel happy just hearing your voice." The tears spilled. "My day brightened every time Sandy said you were calling. I love how we can talk, and here with you now I feel like..."

A loud voice interrupted, jangling my gut: "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?" our server interrupted, bursting around the screen, "or would you like a little more... uhhh"

Fuck.

I turned slowly to meet his gaze without a trace of a smile, cheeks wet with tears. If my eyes shot lasers, he'd have been missing his head. He grasped the meaning.

"I'm so very sorry. I'll come back by after a bit," he bowed slightly and quickly excused himself.

"I'll place the menus just here when we're ready," I told him. He was already gone.

I looked back at Meabh--she was trying desperately to choke back a laugh. Great. Just fucking Great.

"Evan, I care so much about you too. I love our conversations dearly and I was so afraid I'd misread your feelings for me, but you have to admit, that's going to be funny someday and it'll live as one of our stories forever!"

She returned her hand to my arm and gave a sympathetic squeeze.

I took a breath and dried my tears. Some of the tension drained away. I began to chuckle.

"Maybe sooner than later," I managed a wry grin.

"But Meabh, I've got an issue that may derail us. That's what has me all screwed up. I say that because before Rebecca, it screwed up every relationship I ever had. Every. Single. One. So in the fullness of time if I can bring myself to tell you, it will probably guarantee we'll stay just..."

I struggled for words, then made my choice.

"Oh Hell. I didn't think I could tell you. Or should. I wanted to gauge how much I trust you and try to work up my nerve. But I've spent over a year trusting you, so here it is."

I lowered my voice and leaned close to her:

"I'm hung like a light switch. My penis is so tiny that it's nearly impossible to have sex. So think carefully about whether you want to be involved with a guy who can't have sex with you."

"That's it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Wait--that sounded wrong. Let me take that back. It's not that I meant to brush aside your feelings, it's just that it's not a very big deal... Crap. That sounded wrong too.

"I meant I don't want to belittle your feel... oh dammit!"

She looked stricken and blushed crimson.

"Christ! Let me take that back too. Please. I don't want to make light of how that makes you feel, is what I'm saying but I don't see it as a sticking point...oh shit! There I go again! Shit shit shit!"

She sat against the back of the booth and held her hands over her face. After a moment she peeked out at me from the corner of her eye.

"Oh, Evan, I'm just going to stop. I've got my own body issues, so I know how raw feelings can be, and I guarantee I want to hear about how it was for you before Rebecca, but honestly, if you made her happy, I can't imagine you wouldn't do the same for me. And this is getting way out ahead of where we are now. Let's take a breath and look at the menus, OK? Please? I just need you to let me take my feet out of my mouth."

"As long as you don't try to make a big deal out of it," I said with a nearly straight face, "because, really, no one can."

I managed to look somber for all of 2 seconds before erupting in laughter and reaching to pat her arm. She joined me, and laughed until tears were rolling down her cheeks too!

When we settled down, she poured us another glass of champagne and toasted:

"Here's to discovering we trust each other, which makes all other problems quite small indeed."

We laughed again.

Our laughter evidently signaled the staff about our return to calmer emotions--but it was Salvio rather than our server who returned to take our order.

We had a marvelous dinner.

Marvelous cannolis.

We had a marvelous good night kiss.

She felt exquisite in my arms.

I floated home without being even slightly aware of the drive.

MEABH

Oh, my. What a night! It was just chock full of surprises.

The restaurant was on the courthouse square of a small community long-since gobbled into the metro area. It had a quiet elegance. We entered to a hushed ambience, high, tinned ceilings, pristine antique fixtures, and a massive old wooden door. It was redolent of a long and elegant history.

The owner/chef greeted us by name at the door--first names, though he'd never met me--and showed us to a secluded nook. We walked through hushed, but good humored conversations to arrive at a table set with crisp linens, beautiful service, and a lovely flower arrangement. A bottle of champagne waited on ice for us. A waiter appeared immediately to open and pour the champagne. A girl could get used to this!

And then the surprises!

Surprise number one:

Evan's admin, Sandy, took it upon herself to make the arrangements for us after she heard me twist a dinner invitation out of Evan.

Surprise number two:

Sandy wanted us to be a couple! She pushed Evan into coming here, and pushed him to "court me" although those were probably Evan's words rather than Sandy's.

Surprise number three:

He does have strong feelings for me. Thank God!!

Surprise number four, "The Biggy":

He confessed to having a penis "...so small it's impossible to have sex." It killed him to say that. He was crying and telling me how deeply he cared for me just before he sprang that on me. He was sure it would chase me away. He urged me to think about it, and I will.

I haven't ever worried about penis size among the few men I've allowed to score, but then all of them could actually screw me with whatever they were sporting. At the time, though, my overwhelming thought was that even though we only confessed to "strong feelings," this man loved me and nothing else mattered because I loved him too.

Surprise number five:

We made another date. He's taking me to an Irish pub!

Surprise number six:

We kissed. Not just a peck--a real one, long and lovely.

I didn't tell him about being from Nizes. Not yet. It stayed in the back of my mind, lurking with sinister intent and waiting to fuck up my life again.

EVAN

I was in the office early the next morning.

"Sandy?" I called as I heard her office door open, "could you step in a moment please? And close the door?"

"Uh, good morning boss?" Sandy smiled sheepishly.

"So?" I asked, raising an unsmiling eyebrow.

"Oh, uh, Salvio's?" she guessed.

"Salvio himself greeted us by name, there was an elegant floral arrangement on our table and a bottle of Krug '95 on ice that didn't show up on my bill?"

"You didn't like it?" she demanded, hands on hips and recovering some of her sass.

"It was lovely, and Meabh was duly impressed," I told her, dropping my grave expression in favor of a sheepish smile. "I gave you credit, by the way. But how did you manage that? Did you spring for the Krug and flowers? That violates company policy. I need to pay you back for those."

"I did the flowers, and don't you dare try to pay me for them. The champagne must have been Salvio's idea. It sounds expensive? He's my uncle. He likes to spoil me. He said you were crying though. Are things OK?"

"Your uncle?"

"Married my dad's sister. I'm his favorite. He has good taste," she winked.

"Sandy, I need to know a few things. Have a seat?"

"You want to know what Rebecca told me, don't you?" Sandy asked, eyes lowered and blushing now.

"I do. And not just 'want' to know, I absolutely need to know what she said, as close to her exact words as you can," I nodded, "and I'm not mad, and you're not going to embarrass me, so don't edit anything."

"OK. Rebecca adored you, and she knew you better that anyone. I'm closest after her I guess, to knowing you, I mean, and she knew that. She called me your work wife, but she was glad it was me. She felt guilty telling me, and she wasn't completely explicit. Mainly she was more worried about you than guilty though. She said I was in the best spot to help after she was gone."

"And?" I prodded. She blushed more deeply and took a breath. The truth came out in a rush.

"She said you had a lot of problems about your size. The size of your package, I mean, your junk. Oh, hell, with your dick. She didn't say that out loud, but I got the meaning. 'He worries about his size, and he took a lot of grief about it before I met him' that's what she said. I didn't think that you'd be worried about having a porn star monster dick, right? So I took it to mean the other way. She thought you'd use that as an excuse not to meet women. She said you needed to find someone you could trust. You can trust me, of course, but I've got Bob, so..."

"Thank you, Sandy," I said, gently interrupting, "thank you for being Rebecca's voice."

"Thanks for dragging it out of me," she sighed, "it feels better that you know she told me."

"And your take on Meabh?" I asked, "Have you and she had some 'heart-to-hearts' too?"

"Not so much, but, uh, I do get along pretty well with her old Admin," Sandy smiled slyly.

I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head forward to invite more.

"No no no--we're not going there. I'm not playing spy. I'm just saying I like her and so does her Admin, and we both hope you two hit it off. And before you ask, NO--I haven't passed on anything Rebecca shared with me. Not even a hint. Not to anyone, and I never will."

Sandy was back to full-on sass now, but she was still smiling.

"So," she went on, looking concerned, "tell me about dinner?"

"Frank," I nodded, "and uncomfortable for a bit, and then--very, very nice."

"You told her?" Sandy wanted to know.

"I did."

"Wow! Good for you! And..."

"She promised not to belittle me," I grinned, "and we both confessed to being attracted to each other."

"So you'll see her again?" Sandy beamed.

"I will," I nodded, "but Sandy? Don't expect many details, OK? I trust you with my feelings and my, ah, personal stuff even more than before, but I owe Meabh the same confidentiality you give me."

"Got it, boss! That all?"

"Have a good day, Sandy," I smiled and marveled at what a treasure she was.

Oddly, I was OK with Sandy knowing how ill-equipped I was.

I was used to my "micro-dick" becoming public knowledge, but it was never a good feeling. Never even a neutral feeling, for that matter. Locker rooms had outed me. Guys talked. The more precocious even talked to girls. Girls shared the news like wildfire, and the teasing was relentless.

My defense was usually good-natured self-deprecation.

Occasionally I'd gotten in fights when the teasing got mean. Once, I was in such a rage that I did some real damage and ended up in the court system. That led to some counseling. Maybe it helped me form my coping strategy--but I think I came up with most of it on my own, instinctively.

I strived to excel in everything I did. I was a rough, tough, sumbitchin' defensive tackle. I ruined the test curves. I made the dean's list. I was in Tau Beta Pi. I made enough friends that I could pretend having a micro-dick didn't matter.

"Micropenis" is actually a medically defined term, by the way. Several reputable clinics have the information--easy to look up!

A Cleveland Clinic article says anything under 3 2/3" of "stretched" (erect) length meets the definition. I'm 1 1/2" as hard as I can get. Maybe that's a mini micropenis. At any rate, it's the hell and gone down the far left side of the bell curve for length.

My coping strategies? I overcompensated in the things I could control to balance what was completely OUT of my control. But "needle dick the bug fucker" was known far and wide across campus. If I landed a date, it was either because the girl wanted to see whether the rumor was true or, rarely, because she wanted a safe date who wouldn't try to fuck her.