Chapter 11 #3
I started by telling her about bumping into him on Wednesday at Smith’s, and I included the ambiguous arrest details Quinn had given me about the alleged girl-drugger from Club Outrageous.
I covered our somewhat unpleasant exchange on Thursday, and the fact that I was now forced into the bondage of carrying a cell phone.
I ended with a very short version of our day, our training session, and then the after part where everything went from calm to a cavalcade of crazy.
When I told her about the sex conversation, she hit my shoulder and said, “You didn’t!”
When I told her about the kiss, she gasped, her eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth.
When I told her that he’d asked me on a date, she started bouncing up and down on the couch. “Who called it? I called it! That’s right, uh huh!”
I skipped over most of the concert, and when I told her about Vincent and what I learned regarding Quinn’s part in arranging the limo, she frowned, blinked, and said, “I guess that was nice of him in an overreaching kind of way.”
Then, I told her about his last comment of the evening: that he doesn’t date.
Her frown grew more pronounced, and she leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms. She was silent for a moment then sighed. “You know, I kind of guessed that about him.”
It was my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“Some guys just aren’t boyfriend material.”
“Well, then, what kind of material are they? Suede?”
The corner of her mouth hitched as one of her eyebrows lifted; she gave me a knowing look. The problem was I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I shook my head at her. “What? What’s that look for? What don’t I know?”
“He’s a Wendell.”
A Wendell.
“What is a Wendell?”
Elizabeth quickly added, “He’s a hottie player—a Wendell—someone you don’t date.”
“What am I supposed to do with a Wendell?”
She pushed me on my shoulder. “Janie! You have mind-blowing sex with a Wendell! You have your way with him and spend hours in orgasmic paradise taking advantage of his hard body and each fantastic orifice and pleasure-causing appendage until you get tired of him.”
I blushed and glanced at my hands. “I don’t—I mean, I don’t think—”
“Yes. That’s right. Don’t think. Just let yourself have a good time.” She covered my hand with hers and patted it until I met her gaze. “You deserve this. Repeat after me: I, Janie Morris, deserve splendiferous orgasm therapy with Sir McHotpants.”
My eyes widened and I took a brave breath. “This is madness.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Say it!”
I shook my head. “I can’t! I can’t say it!”
“You’re not just going to say it; you’re going to do it—with frequency!”
I laughed in spite of myself. “You want me to have intimate relations with a man-whore.”
“Alleged man-whore. And, yes, I do.” Her face turned serious. “You’ve only ever been with Jon and…” She huffed. “And I know he wasn’t so great in the bedroom department.”
“I never said that.”
“You never had to. The fact that you didn’t say anything at all spoke volumes.”
I bit my lip. The truth was that I thought Jon was fine in the bedroom department. Just fine. He was… just… fine. And what was wrong with fine?
“Janie, sex can be great. It can be really great and fun and amazing. This thing with McHotpants—this could be a great thing. This could help you become more comfortable around guys and experience what sex and physical intimacy can be like when it’s really good.
Wendell—I mean, Quinn—Quinn is being honest with you about his intentions.
When you get tired of him, you don’t have to worry about his feelings; how great is that?
Then, when you meet a non-Wendell who you like and who likes you, you’ll know how to command yourself in the bedroom. ”
I shook my head. “I don’t think I can be that person. I don’t think I can have sex with someone without knowing that he cares about me and wants to be with me for… without something more. I know it sounds Victorian, but I don’t want great sex if it doesn’t come with— with—”
“Love?” Elizabeth supplied, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
I twisted my lips to the side. “Mutual care, respect, compassion, and commitment, and yes, hopefully all of that adds up to love of some kind.”
The truth was being that person, the person who could value the physical aspect of a relationship more than emotional commitment and consistency, scared me.
The untamed and unpredictable nature of it scared me.
It reminded me of my mother, of how she abandoned her family with alarming frequency in favor of temporary sex partners.
It was important to me that I never have anything in common with that woman.
And if it meant that I ended up without a partner at all, or if I spent the rest of my life in a staid, passionless albeit reliable and dependable relationship, then I was really ok with that.
She huffed. “You can get all of that with a dog or a cat. You say these things and think this way because you’ve never had great sex.”
I laughed at her discontented scowl. “Then, oh well; I guess I’ll never have great sex.”
She huffed again then pulled me to her for a hug. “I love you, Janie, and I could give you great sex, but I’m just not into girls.”
I smiled into her shirt. “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind.”
She withdrew and held me at arm’s length, her face and tone serious. “If you don’t want hot Wendell sex then, I have to tell you, you need to be careful with this guy. He’s being honest with you when he says he doesn’t date. You should believe him.”
I nodded and tried not to betray the sadness I felt. “I do. I do believe him.”
She watched me for several moments, considering me. “What did he say after the no dating comment?”
I swallowed, my fingers drifting to my lips of their own accord. “Then he kissed the hell out of me.”