Revenge of the Nerd

"You did the exact same thing to both sides so you don't change the nature of the relationship. That's kind of what you're doing with double-entry accounting."

"Shit. Why didn't they just say that?"

He shrugged.

"It sure is easier to know what to do when you understand why you're doing it."

He nodded. He didn't talk a lot.

"Why couldn't they just say that?"

"Understanding things is easier if you can see them in a context you already understand. They don't have you one on one, so they can't tell if the metaphor worked for you. I have the advantage of trying out as many metaphors as I need to get the idea across."

"You're a smart guy."

"I was given some gifts. Everybody gets gifts. You got intelligence, personality, a nice smile."

I smiled my nice smile. It was a compliment, not an homage. I liked it. It reeked of sincerity. But it was unsettling.

"Thanks."

This guy was different. He treated me with respect. He related to me as a person. To him I was not the hottest woman he could ever imagine seeing. I was someone he could sit and talk to quietly, someone he could just spend silent time with while we were working separately, someone he just liked to be with. It made me feel really good.

Sure, it's nice being worshipped. But this, I don't know, I think it made me a little happier to be me. What a strange effect he was having on me.

It was starting to get late and we agreed that it was time to get going. He offered to walk me home and I accepted.

My apartment was less than a mile from the Student Union, but that provided more than enough time for me to have second thoughts, despite the complete comfort of our conversation.

I was walking openly through the campus with a nerdy freshman. This could not go anywhere good. Sure, I'd had that good feeling briefly. But grief was more likely to follow. If I was going to derive something from this whole experience, I wanted to get in and get out quickly.

When we got to my door, I took charge.

"Kiss me. Jennifer says you're great so let me see what's so special about your kissing."

His face tightened.

"I don't think so. With that attitude, no kiss would satisfy you. I don't understand. You seemed nice, but this shows a really, unflattering side of you. I hope you're in a better disposition later."

He turned and walked away.

I was really pissed and confused and, well, shocked. Nobody had ever walked away from me like that. The confusion prevented me from saying anything as he left. But if I had spoken, it would have been nasty and I'm sure I would never have seen him again.

Did I want that? I hate the word, but why had I been such a bitch? Did I care what he thought? Why was I being so wishy washy? I knew what I wanted from life and I knew how to get it. Did I care what he thought? Of course not.

But what was that unknown discomfort I felt?

This was giving me a headache. I had to get to sleep.

Chapter 2

I can't tell you why, but the non-kissing incident continued to gnaw at me. Looking back, I think it was that I didn't like being characterized as not nice. That's really what he had accused me of.

Nobody had ever accused me of that before, but maybe that was because they were afraid to say something unflattering to me. I hadn't thought of myself that way, but I guess I could understand how he could.

The next afternoon I called Jennifer.

"Did he say anything about me, about what happened?"

"First, he would never say anything about what happened between you. He would consider that your business. He doesn't tell tales.

"Second, even if he somehow slipped, I would never repeat it. I respect him too much to do that. He did make a general comment about you and that I can repeat. He said you were complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea how to take that."

It was better than other things he could have said. Maybe it was like saying, "Your baby looks intelligent," instead of, "What an ugly kid."

"Ask him. He'll tell you."

"Can you tell me some stuff about him?"

"It depends on what you want to know."

"He seems pretty smart. No, he seems very smart. He talked about some courses he skipped. And he seems to know about a lot of things. He helped me with my accounting. He says he helps you with your courses. How smart is this guy?"

"Well, Ashley, he's probably the smartest guy you'll ever meet. He placed out of two years of French and Spanish. That's all the tests cover. But they evaluated his skills and placed him in graduate level courses in both.

"He was put in the advanced courses in math, chemistry, biology and physics. He's here on a National Merit Scholarship. If I didn't know him, I would think he was just an urban legend."

"Damn. You know he wasn't even taking notes when we studied. What's up with that?"

"He has something like a photographic memory. I don't understand it, really, but he says it has something to do with organizing facts. He doesn't just remember the facts. He understands them and that's how he remembers them, or something like that."

"Gee, that's clear. How did you find all this out?"

"Mostly from him. It was like pulling fucking teeth. If I were half that smart, I'd be bragging all over the place. He doesn't even want to talk about it."

"Yeah, I noticed he is really good at changing the subject."

"So, are you going to see him again?"

"I don't know. I haven't decided. Something about him disturbs me. Maybe it's that he takes me so far out of my comfort zone. Is he going to call me?"

"I don't know. He didn't ask for your number."

"Shit. I can't believe I'm going to have to call him. Give me his number in case I decide to. And you can't tell anyone about this."

"If you don't want me to, I won't."

I was interested in him. I can't tell you why. Maybe I was drawn to him like many girls are drawn to bad boys. Maybe he represented danger and excitement. Maybe I was just bored.

I have been in the position to ask a guy to take me to some event where nobody who was invited was an acceptable date for me. But I had never just invited a guy out on a date. What if he said no? Was that possible? If I had a nickel for every time I had said no, I would never have to work. He hadn't completely blown me off. Was this what guys felt every time they had to call a girl for a date? It sucked.

"Hi, Jeff. I don't know if you remember me."

"Now, Ashley. You're being disingenuous."

All right, I read. I know what disingenuous means. But who the fuck uses it in actual conversation? It is a word meant only to be used on the printed page.

"Well." That could have meant anything. I didn't know. Let him figure it out.

"I had a nice time studying with you the other night," he said.

Yes! I was getting a second chance.

"Me too. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight."

"Well, I do have plans, but perhaps you'd like to come along. I'm going to see the wrestling team."

"Sure."

What? Is there a more boring, nerdier sport? I wonder if we have a badminton team.

"Great. I'll stop by at six thirty and we can walk together to the Rec center."

I've been driven on dates in a Rolls Royce. I've been driven in a Lamborghini. Tonight I was walking to the Rec center with a freshman nerd. How low could I sink?

"I'll be waiting."

This was really starting to weird me out. At least he hadn't said no.

Fortunately he didn't try to hold my hand on the walk over. I have no idea what I would have done.

Wrestling may still be a nerdy sport for guys, but for the girls, it is heavenly. All different weight classes and sizes, but these were sparsely dressed, exquisitely muscled, grunting, sweaty specimens of testosterone-laden masculinity in tights. I could have enjoyed watching this at home on a DVD. It was downright arousing. Had this guy discovered some new kind of visual aphrodisiac for women?

Had he been someone I would normally go out with, I would have taken him straight home and he would have gotten as lucky as it was possible to get.

As it was, after the match ended he took me to Bob's Big Boy for something to eat, part of his understanding of the dating ritual. Not exactly my usual fare. But he was probably on a limited budget and I know how to be gracious, even if I hadn't had much call to use it.

I was still fired up when we got to my door. What the hell. I would show nerd boy what kissing was all about. He was about to embark on the ride of his life. I put my arms around him and moved my lips toward his. He was surprisingly strong given that he had no visually apparent muscle.

A brief kiss. Nibble his lower lip with my lips. A tentative tongue across his lips. A little suction. Our tongues touched; they dueled back and forth. He ran his tongue along my teeth.

Oh my.

This was so good it took my breath away. We teased. We devoured. We consumed. It was the greatest kiss of my life. I felt like I was floating on air, protected by his strong arms. It seemed to go on forever. Then I became aware of a small group of girls across the street. They were applauding our kiss.

What had happened here? I had intended to show him what an incredible kiss was like. Maybe I did. But he had certainly shown me as well. I unlocked my door and dragged him in behind me. I headed straight for my bedroom with him in tow. I pushed him down on my bed and opened a few buttons on my blouse. I lowered myself on top of him and we went back to that scrumptious kissing.

I don't know how long we did that but it occurred to me at some point that he hadn't tried anything further. I undid the rest of the buttons and removed my blouse. I unhooked my bra and tossed it off. Then I lifted his golf shirt which had the logo "InTime" from a consulting company he had said he used to work for, pulled it over his head and tossed it away.

He ran his hands lightly over my back. He drew them down my arms, up my sides, across my shoulders, around my neck, over my cheeks, then back down. When he reached my waist he moved his hands to my stomach and up to the bottom of my ribcage to just below my breasts. Then he slid them around to my sides and up to my armpits.

Couldn't he find my damn breasts?

I couldn't take any more. I grabbed his hands and moved them to what he had been avoiding. His touch was light. He moved his fingers in random patterns avoiding my nipples like he had been avoiding my breasts.

I wanted to punch him! I wanted to fuck him!

He rolled us so that he was on top, putting most of his weight on his knees and elbows. He kept threatening to touch my nipples and withdrawing. Finally, when I was sure I could take no more, he touched them, still lightly. This didn't arouse them. They were beyond further arousal. I moaned. I could feel the sensations travel from my nipples throughout my body. I don't care if it's not possible, that's how it felt.

He took one of my nipples in his mouth. I didn't care which one. Neither did he. He switched. He sucked and released. He tapped with his tongue. He blew on it. Oh, my God.

Then his fingers were back. He was pinching them with more force, but they were ready for the assault. I was sodden at this point. I thought he might have to cut off my jeans and panties with surgical scissors. He ran his nails lightly around my breasts. The sensation was not as intense as the previous ones, but was exquisite nonetheless.

Suddenly he began pressing his fingers into opposite sides of my breasts as if to squash them. I had felt this kind of assault before from inept neophytes who evidently thought you had to tenderize breasts like a tough steak.

After everything he had done so well, why was he doing this? I guess the mind is the most important sexual organ because all the wonderful groundwork he had laid was ruined by his ham-fisted manhandling of my breasts.

"Stop that. What are you doing? Get off me. I don't want to do this anymore."

He stopped with, "Stop that," and got up with a confused, hurt, puppy-dog look on his face.

"I'm sorry. I, I, I'm just sorry." He gathered up his shirt and quickly left.

In all he had done, I had thought he was a sexual virtuoso. I guess it just turned out that he was so timid he was afraid to get to it. It had seemed like a carefully crafted campaign of slow arousal but it had turned out to be just a serendipitous accident until the end.

I was furious. Jennifer had portrayed him as an artist, but he was more like a pre-schooler with finger paints. I didn't even pause to change clothes or put on anything I had discarded. I grabbed the phone to vent my rage on her. If she was pulling some kind of practical joke on me, I'd have her head on a stake.

"How the hell could you tell me he's so special? He latched onto my tits like he was riding a bucking bronco he was afraid would throw him. He had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. If you're trying to pull something on me you'll be so sorry."

"I don't understand. Calm down and tell me what happened."

I related the events to her in rather colorful language. When I got to the end, she had to wait until I finished lambasting his performance.

"Do you really want to know what happened or do you want to be angry?"

"Hey, I'm willing to listen if you think there's a snowball's chance in hell you can make this sound right."

If this had been portrayed in a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of my ears.

"Tell me, did you notice the sensations when he was mauling you, did you notice what it felt like."

I thought about it. "How could there be sensations? He was squeezing them."

"Look, everybody's different. It, well, you're obviously aware that there are lots of nerves in your nipples, right?"

"So?"

"Well the signals from your nerves go to your brain to be interpreted. How do they get there?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

"They don't magically jump through the air. They are transmitted through a network of nerve pathways that eventually lead to the brain. And where do you think the network is that leads from your nipples?"

She couldn't see me slowly shaking my head.

"I don't know."

"Along the milk duct and through the center of your breasts. There are nerves in there that can be stimulated. But if you're not aroused, the signal they carry if you're squeezed is pressure, discomfort or even pain. When you're aroused, the sensation is pleasurable. At least it is for me. If you didn't stop to recognize what you were experiencing, you may have missed it."

"How do you know all this? You're an English major?"

"He explained it to me. I liked it but I didn't understand what was going on."

"How the hell does he know all this? Is he some kind of fucking doctor freshman?"

"He read it in a book. He reads lots of things in books. Do you think he could get you that worked up by accident? Girl, you had a panic attack."

"I don't know, maybe. I didn't, I just remembered how it was like with those inexperienced guys. I don't think I took the time to think about what I was feeling physically, I just reacted.

Damn. He's never going to talk to me again. What the hell am I going to say to him? How can I even talk to him? I'm so embarrassed."

I had really let my guard down with her in the rush of unfamiliar emotions.

"I don't get what's going on with him. Sometimes he seems to know exactly what he's doing and other times he seems almost lost. You know he took me to Bob's Big Boy."

She laughed. "Did you ask for the wine list?"

"Very funny. Is there something wrong with him or am I going crazy?"

"You've noticed. He's really good at anything he can read about and he's really good with things he's experienced. Like he gets an amazing psychological read on people most of the time, when their behavior matches something he's learned from a book. But some things he's completely clueless.

"The first time I met him he connected with me right away", said Jen. "He was warm, he treated me with respect, just accepted me for who I am. So I tried to let him know I was interested. I did the touching thing, his hand, his arm, his chest. I threw back my head to laugh when he said something funny. I did the hair toss. I ran through the whole arsenal.

"So he walks me back to my place, tells me it was nice meeting me and puts out his hand to shake. I've given him every green light I know and he's trying to shake hands."

"Yes. That's what I was feeling. I don't know what's coming next. I don't know if he's going to say something so insightful it will change the course of my life or something so clueless I can't figure how he makes it across the street by himself. He's like an idiot savant."

"Don't you love it? Ashley, it's so cool to see him learning from these situations he's never been in and hasn't read about. I know I'm talking like he's a lab experiment but in a few years, when he's learned all this social stuff, he's going to be almost irresistible."

"He'll still be a nerd. But I guess it's possible. I think I'm going to have to see that to believe it. For now, though, I think I want another chance with him. What do I do? What do I say?"

"Tell him the truth. Tell him how much you liked it up until then and how it brought up bad memories. He's pretty understanding."

The truth; what a novel approach. "Thanks. Maybe I will."

Could I? Should I do it right away? I had thrown him out like he was trying to rape me.

Why did I care? He was just another guy, a freshman and not particularly well off either. I could do much better. Of course, it wasn't like I was marrying the guy. And up until the time I freaked, it was by far the best sexual experience of my life.

And the way he kissed. Wow.

I didn't seem to be willing to just throw him aside. I couldn't put my finger on why not. He made demands of me. He had expectations of me. What was attractive about that?

While I was trying to decide whether or not to call him, I had a small epiphany. Aside from kissing him and the fact that my hands must have been somewhere, I had not touched him the whole time he was working on me.

That was a surprising enough realization, but I understood something more important: it was not because I didn't care whether he enjoyed himself. I was so overwhelmed by the sensations he was giving me I completely forgot to touch him.

That tipped the scales. I had to call him to try again.

"Jeff, this is Ashley. I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for how I acted."

He didn't say anything. I assumed he thought there should be more.

So I gave it to him.

"I've been with some pretty inexperienced, clumsy guys. They kind of handled my, breasts, like they were stress balls. It was painful and uncomfortable and I sort of flashed back to those experiences without trying to understand what you were doing or what I was actually feeling. I overreacted. I'm really sorry."

I radiated sincerity because, perhaps for the first time with a man, I was sincere, without artifice.

"I'm sorry it made you feel uncomfortable. I had no idea what I had done wrong. I could have explained if you had asked," he said.

"I know."

How had he made it to eighteen years old and remained this naïve?

"I'm not saying it was your responsibility to ask. When you feel a visceral response to something, you just react. You don't stop to analyze it. I'm just saying I did it for a reason. I'm sorry it made you feel bad."

"Visceral? Do you always talk like that? Sometimes you sound like a thesaurus."

He laughed. "You're actually hearing me trying not to do that. I really work on, well, trying to say things in a way most people can understand. Sometimes the perfect word jumps into my mind and out of my mouth."

"I'm not complaining. It's just surprising to hear sometimes: visceral, disingenuous. Anyway, I wanted to know if we could give this another try. I promise not to go crazy again."