At 25, Part 3

1996


MJ honks her car horn. I run out of my house and hop into her ride. It’s a reunion of sorts, and I’ve been nervous all day. I kiss her on the cheek, slightly on the lips. She looks great, smells even better, like cream over peaches. The insecure high school girl I once knew has blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Wow. We’ve recently become friends again after years of not speaking. It’s been all catch-up phone conversations to this point, with a bit of expectant flirting tossed in for fun. We even had one night of dirty talk. The past is forgotten, or at least not mentioned.

MJ’s tall, cute, funny, a former high school cheerleader. Brown hair, big eyes, great calves. Sturdy cheerleader calves. I worked with MJ at Pizza Tent. She was heavier then, hadn’t outgrown her baby fat yet. Now she’s into fitness and martial arts, kick boxing, self-defense, and stuff like that there. MJ can totally kick my ass, which might not be saying much since I’m a bit of a pussy. I did her wrong back then. MJ was just a kid and I toyed with her emotions. I cheated on Elisa with MJ; well, maybe that’s not necessarily true: I broke up with Elisa for a month so I could have sex with MJ without feeling guilty, then I broke up with MJ and got back with Elisa. We all worked together and it was a mess. Very "Days of Our Lives." It’s hard to keep more than one lie going at once. My body just didn’t fit with MJ’s like it did with Elisa's. So, even though Elisa was, well, a coke whore, I went back to her because we fit, and I feared I’d never fit with another girl like I did with her. MJ was sweet and kind, loving and true, but our naughty parts didn’t connect the way I thought they should. The first time I had sex with MJ I remember thinking, "Uh oh, this doesn’t feel right." It felt good, certainly—it is sex we’re talking about here—but our bodies didn’t snap into place like two bodies should when it’s meant to be. Hearts were broken. Elisa smacked my face and left a red mark in the shape of her fingers. I made mistakes. I lost them both. Now I’m older. Smarter?

MJ doesn’t hate me anymore. Maybe she never did. But she sure should have. Within moments of seeing her, I know we’re cool, all’s forgiven. We smile and touch and exchange the kind of witty banter that’s probably not as witty as we think it is. We’re going to the movies to see a Stanley Kubrick film called Eyes Wide Shut, starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. After the film, we’ll go and have dinner somewhere nice but not too nice, then we’ll come back to my house and mess around. I know this because every phone conversation we’ve had of late has been sexier, naughtier, more intimate than the last. We haven’t had sex with each other in years, but from the first few moments in the car, from our mutual, excited glances, I know she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. I want to touch her new grown-up, well-muscled body. Her breasts are smaller now, because she’s lost weight, but her newly-formed muscles are kind of sexy. I want to make up for the shitty way I treated her. For using her and dumping her. For making her cry. She never had a chance in those days, when she was simply a naive seventeen-year-old cheerleader, because I was blinded by my irrational love for Elisa. Now we’re older, and I wonder if her new body will fit me better than her old one did. My body hasn’t changed. My penis certainly hasn’t gotten any bigger.

The movie is long but good. Sexy, gorgeous, interesting. We hold hands for a few minutes. She pulls away and I wonder if it’s because my hand is sweaty. I wonder if she’s digging me. I wonder if the movie is turning her on. As I watch the movie, I think back to the few times we had sex. Her scent. I remember her scent. It fills my nose. I want the real thing.

"What did you think of the movie?" MJ asks, as soon as we’re back in her car.

"I liked it, I think. If I were making a movie, and I knew that the script was somewhat lacking, I’d make sure I had many, many pairs of boobies. Big boobies, little boobies, lopsided boobies, famous boobies, unknown boobies. So I give Kubrick points for that."

"Nice, Erv, real nice," she says, smiling. "Boobies? You’re some kind of deep thinker, let me tell you. "

"Thanks. I try."

We look into each other’s eyes, sweetly. Our fingers touch, tangle. I want to get her alone. She lives a good distance away, so it’s either my place or no place. I pray that Dave isn’t home. If he’s already left for his nightly mission, he probably won’t be back until morning. I want to get MJ in my bed. I want to lock the door and kiss her all over. I want to touch her and give her all of me, finally, after all these years. Because of Elisa, she never got more than half of me, half of my attention. It was never all about MJ; someone else was always on my mind. But now, I’m in my mid-twenties and free of Elisa’s grasp. I can spend the night with MJ while actually thinking about MJ and no one else. Unless I fall asleep. Or unless my drug-addled, nuisance of an older brother ruins everything. Dave is a well-known ruiner of things.

MJ parks in front of my house and instantly it feels as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach. I’ve got the burning. The ache. A fire inside. The good news is, Dave is not home. The bad news is, he’s stolen my car. The second I see that my car is not parked in front of the house, I know Dave has taken it to Camden. My car will be involved in a drug deal tonight, maybe several.
Soon, I’m sitting in the living room, MJ by my side, my head in my hands. Mom is sitting across from us, crying. MJ offers a sympathetic smile as she squeezes my shoulder. She’s wearing her glasses and looks adorably adult. She never used to wear her glasses as a teenager, but now, as a women, she’s more confident in her appearance, and cares less about what people think. I like a girl in glasses. I almost don’t even recognize the girl sitting next to me. It’s MJ all right, but a slightly different MJ from the one I used to know, as if the old MJ was replaced my a new MJ from an alternate earth, an earth where all the girls wear glasses and smell like cream over peaches.

"Should I call the police?" I wonder aloud.

"Please, Ervin, don’t call the police. I don’t want him arrested. He’s my son."

"Mom, he stole my fucking car! He went into my room and looked through all my stuff until he found my keys. This isn’t right. I’m your son, too. It’s not fair to me."

"I’m sure he’ll bring the car back tonight. Just...give him a chance. Please. He’s your brother. Don’t hurt him like that."

"Me hurt him? That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a big fucking joke!"

"Stop yelling. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown, I swear! This is killing me. I can’t take it anymore." Mom is trembling, and I suddenly feel more sorry for her than I do myself.

I shake my head and sigh. "Fine. I’ll give him a bit longer. But if he’s not back soon, I’m pressing charges. How long do I have to sit here and take his abuse? Fuck it." I grab MJ’s hand, wrap my chubby fingers around her slender digits, and say, "Come on." I lead her into the bedroom and lock the door. She does not protest. MJ seems keen on comforting me.

We sit down together on the bed and she rubs my back, tells me everything will be just fine. I turn and stare, tell her that she’s beautiful. She kisses me, climbs on top of me, grinds into me, bites my neck, licks my lips.

She says, "Why don’t you just forget about the car for awhile. Let me help you do that. Do you have any condoms?"

I nod. "I have condoms. Eleven condoms."

"Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Does it feel like I want to sleep with you?"

She reaches down and squeezes. "Oh, yeah."

I reach for the remote control, switch to MTV, turn the volume up all the way.
We giggle as we undress each another. We’re clumsy and sloppy, but it’s all in fun. I have trouble with the condom, fumble a bit, and lose some of my hard-on as I unroll it over my modest erection. I ease myself inside her. Not a perfect fit. My rhythm is off. I’m zigging when I should be zagging, coming when I should be not coming. MJ wants more but I’m all out. I really wanted to give her my best effort, but I haven’t had sex in months and was ready to burst from the get-go. I was so backed up that I worried I might break the rubber with the sheer force and volume of my orgasm. I haven’t even jerked-off in about a week. MJ kindly allowed me a glorious release. A discharge of pent-up frustration in fluid form. Luckily, the condom held up to my major explosion.

As soon as we’re done, I know we’re not meant for each other. I know our bodies don’t connect like they need to, still. I had hoped otherwise. Our puzzle pieces are mismatched, ever so slightly. We’re not going to be a couple; we’re not destined for each other. We’re just two old friends having sex. I needed it for various reasons, and I’m sure she had reasons of her own. This will not be a great love affair, but maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll be the start of a great friendship. MJ and I will be great buddies, who sometimes "do it." I’m sure I could get her to go for it. A few years ago, she was obsessed with me. Now, who knows? I’m almost certain she fucked me just to cheer to me up, to make me forget that my car had been stolen. A pity-fuck, I’m guessing.

MJ falls asleep soon after we finish with the sex. She’s in my bed, wearing panties and a tight T-shirt, sleeping peacefully. I stare at her tan, long legs and arms, at her slightly-open mouth, her perfectly-outlined breasts. Her thin fingers. I take her in, breathe in her scent—her strawberry shampoo, her sweet cream/peaches perfume, her almost odorless sweat, her fragrant sex. There’s something about having a nearly naked, slightly sweaty, unconscious girl in your bed that makes a guy feel important. MJ is in my bed and she wants to be in my bed. Maybe she just had sex with me out of kindness, or maybe she truly wanted me. Maybe it was just for old time’s sake. Doesn’t matter. She’s here now, softly snoring, and soon my skin will touch hers and we’ll squeeze each other tight. We’ll spoon and I’ll drift off. It’ll be perfect.

Then Dave will come home and ruin everything.

But he doesn’t come home.

I make her breakfast in the morning. Nothing fancy, a bagel with jelly. We sit together on the bed as she eats and we have a pleasant conversation. There’s none of that morning-after awkwardness that sometimes happens when you wake up next to someone you usually don’t wake up next to. We’re cool. She gets dressed and sneaks out without my mother seeing her. My car is still missing, out having a wacky adventure without me. Sadly, I care more about the safety of my car than I do about Dave’s well-being. I want to call the cops. But I won’t. Because Dave is family. Because my mommy doesn’t want me to.

I walk with MJ out to her car and hug her goodbye. It’s a nice, long hug, and more than that, it’s a challenge. The person who lets go first has all the power, because that’s the person who has better things to do. Places to be. Other hugs to dole out. The person who holds on too long immediately becomes "needy."

She lets go first. Back in the day, she never wanted to let go.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For keeping me company. You turned a potentially horrible night into a night I’ll always cherish."

"So," she begins, "about what we did."

"Don’t worry. I know."

She kisses my cheek. "We should probably just be friends."

"Yeah."

"I’m not saying we won’t ever have sex again. But I think we should give just being friends a shot. We’ve never tried that."

I scratch my chin thoughtfully.

"Is it because I only lasted, like, 60 seconds? Or because my penis is kind of small?"

She laughs, says, "Don’t be silly," and I’m not sure which question she’s answering. She regroups, transforms into a serious young lady. "You broke my heart when I was seventeen. You really did. I loved you and you hurt me bad. We can have fun, we can be friends, but you will never get the chance to break my heart again. Times have changed."

"I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what I wanted."

"You should’ve picked me."

"Yes, I should have. I fucked up."

She pats my cheek condescendingly. "Oh, yeah, you so did. Elisa was such a whore. She cheated on you all the time, and everyone knew she was doing it. She was out doing coke and fucking random guys all the time while you were dating her. But you kept getting back with her."

I shrug, simply say, "I loved her."

She nods, as if to say I understand.

She leaves me. I wave as she pulls away, then I take a seat on the front step. I look at the empty spot in the driveway where my car should be. When Dave finally comes back, I’ll need to find a better hiding spot for my car keys. If he’s not back by tonight, I’m calling the cops. I swear. Well, maybe not tonight. Definitely tomorrow, for sure. Unless he calls and apologizes. Then maybe I’ll give him a few extra days.