Revenge of the Nerd

I was a little calmer now. I managed to unbuckle his belt and unsnap the button on his jeans. I slid down the zipper.

He was using his fingers on my nipples now but he couldn't arouse them any further. They were as engorged as it was possible for them to be.

He started moving his fingers up away from them, pressing on the top and the bottom. I felt it, a deep sensation, not as intense as the direct stimulation of my nipples, but very pleasurable, like the satisfaction you get from a really good stretch. This was the intermezzo.

I tried to push his jeans down, but I was not in a position to exert any pressure. Mercifully, he started his hands down and pulled on my skirt. I lifted my hips to help him and he removed it but left my panties.

"Get them off. Rip them off if you have to."

He laughed. I was glad he found this so amusing. I tried again to shove his jeans down. This time he helped me. He left on his boxers. God forbid we should get naked so he could pound me like a jackhammer.

His hands slid under the waistband of my panties onto my ass and he rubbed and caressed.

I moaned.

He moved further down and I thought he was finally going to attack my lips. He tapped a finger at the bottom of my swampy opening. Just a tap and he moved his hand away.

When this was over I would beat him to a bloody pulp for teasing me this way.

Finally my panties started to move south. I lifted and wriggled my legs forcefully while being careful not to kick him anyplace that would slow him down catastrophically.

He moved up to lie on his side, me on my back, and slid his hand slowly up my leg. The further he progressed, the more forcefully he pressed his fingers into my flesh. He moved up the inside of my thigh headed exactly where I wanted him.

At the last instant, he veered off to the crease where my leg met my torso. He kept up the pressure, moving to my stomach and down through my hair toward my clit. At the last second he veered off alongside my lips.

I screamed. If I were captured by the enemy and tortured like this, I would tell them anything they wanted to hear.

Down the inside of my thigh. Across to the other thigh and up the inside like he had done before. He slowed down. As his fingertips were less than an inch away he stopped and rested the heel of his hand against my hair.

"Please. Please. Please."

He tapped his middle finger against my wetness. It elicited a mournful sigh from me.

"More!"

He tapped again, then again. I was sure that there was nothing I could do to him at that moment that I would not be acquitted for.

He tapped once more and then pressed his finger lengthwise, letting it sink slowly.

I came. It wasn't enough.

He slid his finger along my lips. He reached my clit and put on some pressure rolling it from side to side a couple of times.

I came. It wasn't enough.

A second finger sank into me and then a third. He maintained the pressure on my clit with the base of his fingers and his thumb, but his fingertips were pressing up against the front wall, or the top, I don't know how to describe it. I was lying down so it seemed to be the top but if I had been standing up, well, whatever, it felt so good I was having trouble staying coherent.

Nobody had ever done this to me before. It was so intense. I was starting to throb and then I was overwhelmed with the biggest orgasm I had ever had. It was starting to get almost painfully intense when he eased off.

It took me a moment to catch my breath.

"What the hell did you do to me? What was that?"

"What?"

"Inside me. What was that?"

"I was caressing your G-spot."

"What's that?"

"Are you sure this is when you want the anatomy lesson?" he asked.

"I'm sure it isn't. I want more."

And then he was slipping down his boxers. Shit! I had forgotten all about him again. Well it was his own damn fault. He had set my whole body on fire and continued to fan the flames.

He eased himself up between my legs and I thought the least I could do was help, so I reached to guide him into me. It was covered with a condom. That hadn't occurred to me. I was on the pill. We would have to discuss this, oh, he sank all the way in. I had been teased enough.

"No more fooling around. Fuck me hard and fast. I need it."

He ignored me.

He tilted forward so that the base of his organ was pressing against my clit. He rotated it, like he was stirring pudding so it wouldn't stick to the bottom of the pot. It was very good pudding. It hit all kinds of different places at different angles.

Instead of stirring, he would start to move in random directions. I never knew what to expect next but all of it was delicious. Sometimes he would change the angle and remove the pressure on my clit for a while and then he would bring it back. Still teasing, just a different way, and it was driving me crazy.

I could feel a really big one building. The angles, the pressure, the constant variation of sensation, was getting to me much more than any pounding ever had.

"Oh, God. I'm going to come. Oh my God. Aaaaaah." It hit me with tremendous force. Then suddenly the feeling increased exponentially. It hit me like a fucking tsunami. Every part of my body felt like it was exploding. I felt as if I were going to ...

I was lying in my bed. I couldn't move. I tried to lift up my head but I didn't seem to have the energy. "What happened?"

"You passed out."

"I can't move."

He laughed. "That won't last long. You expended so much energy your body just doesn't want to move at the moment."

"What did you do? I felt like I was exploding. I, I can't even really describe it. Whew. If that's what sex is supposed to be like, you just took my virginity."

He laughed again. "It may have sapped your strength, but it hasn't dulled your sense of humor."

"What was that? I never felt anything like it."

"You had an orgasm."

"No shit. But it never felt like that. What did you do?"

"Well, time for a little class here while there's less urgency. You remember about the nerve paths to the brain?"

"Yeah. Jen told me about it. I felt it this time."

"You have nerves all over your body. But you only have one set of nerves. They have to perform multiple functions. When I caress your face like this, how does it feel?"

"Very nice, thank you."

"The nerves carry that sensation of touch and the feelings of pleasure. You have other nerves that transmit even stronger signals of pleasure."

"I noticed," I said.

"If I stuck you with a pin, what would you feel?"

"Pain."

"Nerves carry pain signals too. What if you lit a match and forgot to blow it out?"

"I'd get burned."

"And the nerves would tell your brain it was really hot and you should do something about it, like drop the match or blow it out. Nerves transmit signals of heat and cold too."

"Yes, professor."

"Well, it turns out, that in certain situations, the brain has trouble differentiating between the signals. At the moment of orgasm, while the brain is being overwhelmed by pleasure, that's the only message it recognizes.

"So, if, when you started to come, I were to squeeze your clit very hard, the brain would misinterpret it as even more intensely pleasurable. But afterward you'd be bruised and it would hurt.

"I could put a lit match down there at that moment and your brain wouldn't say, 'Ouch,' but 'Wow.' Of course that would cause some damage that would last a while and you wouldn't be too happy with me. But,"

"The ice cube! No residual damage." Damn! Who thought this stuff up?

"The ice cube. It's like an amplifier. The brain just hears more pleasure. It's only for a very brief time. Then it just gets recognized as cold and gets painful. It's just like after an orgasm, continued stimulation can start to feel painful. You've only got that brief moment to work with, but if you get it right, it can really kick it up a notch."

"Thanks, Emeril. And believe me, if you were a woman and felt the effect of those ice cubes, you wouldn't use that limp-ass 'kick it up a notch.' It was mind blowing. Where did you learn all this stuff? Did you go to the Cordon Screw?"

"I read it in a book," he said.

"You read it in a book?"

"I read it in a book."

"Where can I buy the book?"

"You're a funny girl. That's one of the things I like about you."

My strength was starting to return, but I felt no urgency to get up.

"And you're a strange guy."

"Do you like me anyway?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. You've acted kind of strangely yourself. That's why I'm asking."

"Of course I do."

Men. They always have their doubts. Not all men really. Most of the men I date have no doubts at all. They should, but they don't.

"We have to do this again. But not too often; I don't think I could take it." I sighed. "God, I'm so embarrassed. I didn't do a thing for you. I, I'm never that selfish. You just had me so, involved, it completely slipped my mind. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I had a good time."

"I can do much better. You have to give me another chance."

"Hey, I was so turned on at your reactions I was about to burst a blood vessel. You did notice I was aroused, didn't you?"

"I did."

But I hadn't really taken any notice of how big it was; just what it was doing to me. That came as a real surprise. It wasn't huge, but that's all I was really aware of. That, and the fact that it wasn't relevant.

"Well, I still want another crack at it."

"It may not be obvious, but I don't just slut around with anyone. There needs to be some sort of emotional connection for me. I don't have to be in love, but I have to be in like. You're going to need to romance me."

"So you like me?" I asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

Hey, no girl ever tires of hearing this and as long as he doesn't say, "Because you have big tits," there is almost no bad answer. Actually, there are a lot of girls who will settle for that.

"I love your sense of humor. I like your intelligence. And on the rare occasion, you can actually be warm and sweet."

"That's not a very nice thing to say."

I exaggerated it, but was surprised to find I was a little hurt.

"It's true, isn't it?"

"I suppose. But I don't like to think of myself that way."

"There's a solution: don't act that way."

Boy did he have a set.

"Your after play needs some work."

"This is relationship building, not after play."

"How did you switch to so serious all of a sudden?" I asked.

"I'm interested in whether we have any future together. I don't mean in the sense of a committed relationship. God knows I'm not ready for that with anyone. But I'd like to know if I was just your one nerd experiment and that's all this is to you."

I avoided his eyes. I wasn't sure what this was myself. How did he know me so well?

"You're not a ..." yes he was, and it would be insulting to deny it. He really just laid it out there. Here's my vulnerability. Are you going to crush me?

"Thanksgiving break is coming up. Were you planning on taking me home to meet your parents and your friends?" he asked.

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"And now that you have?"

"I, um, well, it's not, I really ..."

He laughed. "Can't do it, huh? It would hurt your status to bring home a nerd, and a not especially good-looking one at that."

"You don't look bad."

"Thanks for the underwhelming vote of confidence." There was no rancor in his voice. "I understand. At this point in your life you're too immature for me. When you grow up, you could consider looking me up again."

"That's not fair."

"That's what I thought. I know it doesn't sound nice, but I learned the lesson from an older woman. She was right. I was not sufficiently mature for her."

"Did you learn that in a book too?"

"No. From studying people and their behavior and myself and my behavior. She did me a favor, although I thought she was pretty harsh at the time."

I hoped some of the guys I had cut off at the knees were that understanding.

"You're just too involved in yourself at this point in your life to have a solid relationship with somebody else. No offense intended," he said.

I'm supposed to say, "None taken." But it did hurt, especially because I realized it was probably true.

"I don't know what to say." I couldn't look him in the eyes.

"That's okay. I find when I don't know what to say, it usually works out best if I don't say anything."

I took his advice.

"Are you going home for Thanksgiving?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Could I get a ride back to Lower Merion with you?"

"You live in Lower Merion?" My voice reflected my astonishment.

"Yes."

"Oh my God. Did you go to Lower Merion High School?"

"Yup."

"Me too. That's amazing. We might even have met back then. What a coincidence."

"We did," he said.

This was a hell of a conversation to have naked. I looked carefully at him and it hit me. He had grown quite a bit, filled out some, and looked quite different, yet sufficiently the same.

"Willie?" This time there was no derision in my voice. It was quiet and sad.

"But where did Jeff come from? Were you trying to humiliate me?"

"I switched to my middle name when I got to college. I got tired of all the 'little Willie' jokes. My whole family agreed, even though it was difficult for them to change to Jeff. They used to call me Bill."

"I'm really sorry. I was probably worse then than I am now. I didn't mean to hurt you; I just didn't think about other people. I don't know, maybe I did. I was pretty self-centered."

"I know. After all I did for you I was pretty angry. I fantasized about some kind of revenge."

"I guess you got it after all," I said.

"I hope not. It was a childish fantasy. What would revenge get me? Besides, without you I might never have thought to learn about people."

I was pretty sure he didn't realize he still had a lot to learn about people. He had started getting dressed and I did the same, though I felt enough connection that it would have been nice to just lie there with him for a while.

"I'd still be too immature to be of any good to anyone. I owe you," he said.

I had some idea of how he must have felt except that he wasn't trying to put me down when he said it. If it felt this bad being told nicely, well, I didn't want to think about it.

"Well, if you owe me, will you wait for me to grow up?"

Why had I said that? I didn't know that I wanted him. Maybe I did. They say to trust your initial reactions. He took me off the hook.

"We'll see where we are when that happens. I'd still like that ride."

"I still want the name of that book."

Chapter 4

I gave him the ride. It figured to be more fun than driving home by myself. We got along perfectly until he got in the car and heard Metallica on the radio.

"How about we listen to NPR? Talk of the Nation should be on. It's not Science Friday, but they have a lot of really informative shows," he said.

"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It just struck me so funny the enthusiasm you showed when you said 'Science Friday.' You said it like that's what everybody's waiting to listen to. It's goofy but it's endearing. No offense intended."

I touched his leg because I felt like doing it. It was not a ploy but I think it was a signal. I wondered if he had recognized it.

"None taken. I know that sometimes I'm in another world. Why don't we just talk? We can get to know each other better."

"Okay. Fine by me. Let's start with your whole name. I don't even know your last name."

"William Jefferson Goldberg."

This time I didn't have to explain the laughter.

"How the hell did they come up with that?"

"It would have been no big deal if it hadn't been for Clinton. My great grandfather was William. As for Jefferson, he's my mom's favorite president. My other great grandfather was Jerome so they needed a 'J'."

"That's too funny."

"Yeah, well, my Mom teaches history at Penn, and she focuses on American History, so there was going to be a president in my name somehow. It was just a matter of bad timing."

"Wow, a history prof. So why didn't you go there?" I asked.

"My mom teaches history at Penn. Plus I wanted to get away from home anyway."

"I can understand that. What does your Dad do?"

"Electrical engineer," he said.

"So nerdiness is genetic?" He gave me a look.

I smiled. "I mean that in the nicest way."

"So what did you inherit? What does your Dad do?" he asked.

"He runs a bank."

"He's a bank manager?"

"No. He runs a bank. President, like his father and his father. He owns the bank."

"I have a checking account in a bank. Your Mom?" he asked.

"She volunteers."

"Not at the bank."

"No."

"So what did you inherit? Not money, but temperament, personality, skills."

"I don't think they have anything to do with who I am."

"Congratulations. You're the first," he said.

"Maybe they do. Are you sure you don't want to listen to Mettalica?"

We talked politics. He was a tree hugger, big surprise; he even composted their grass clippings.

He was appalled that I wasn't even registered to vote. All those people fought and died so he could vote. So many women struggled so I could vote. Wasn't I betraying all that effort and sacrifice? I guess I was. It was something that required no sacrifice, practically no effort for me and I guess I didn't appreciate what I had.

One of the things that really annoyed me about him was that he was almost always right.

He talked about history, which he seemed to love as much as his Mother did. The best thing about history, he said, was that if we understood it, we could avoid making the mistakes of the past. The problem was in the understanding.

Did we learn from Vietnam that we shouldn't meddle in Iraq? Or did we learn from World War II that we must be involved because it posed a more general threat? Or did neither provide a sufficient parallel to guide our behavior?

Who wants to think about this stuff all the time?

Apparently, Jeff does.

He was passionate about politics. He was passionate about history. He was passionate about bridge. I thought it was a game designed to fill huge chunks of interminable time for old ladies. But he said it was an intense game fought in local, national and international competition.

He had a passion for baseball. I considered it a cure for insomnia, but Jeff said it was a vibrant test of skill, intelligence and courage.

Most of all, he had passion. He devoured life in huge gulps.

I asked him what he did when he was bored. He asked how it was possible to be bored. There was not enough time to do everything, learn everything, read everything. When was the time available for boredom?

Jeff wanted to talk about what made me passionate, but I couldn't think of anything. I was envious. I wanted some of that myself.

He said, "Don't want it, go get it. There are things out there that can excite you. Find them. It's all in your control."

He was probably right again. For this ride it was exciting just to see his passion.

With all we talked about, this was the quickest ride home I ever had. I hated for it to end. It seemed that he did too.

"Come on in and meet my family."

"No, I have to get home."

"That can wait a little longer. Come on, I know you'll like them. I promise we won't lock the door. You can get out whenever you need to."

I was a little scared to meet them, but it didn't take too much convincing for me to spend a little more time with him.

"Is that you Jeff?" I heard as we entered through the front door.

"Hi, Mom."

She walked into the foyer. She was a little shorter than I, with brown hair, brown eyes, thin face and a warm smile that dominated it. She took him in her arms.

"I'm so glad you're home." She released him and turned to me.

"Mom, this is my friend Ashley."